


The Dragon and the White Wolf

by danifirstofhername



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Game of Thrones Alternate Season 08, Game of Thrones References, Inspired by Game of Thrones, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,560
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23872351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danifirstofhername/pseuds/danifirstofhername
Summary: We all have wondered what if the Red Wedding never happened? What if Robb never married Talisa? What if Robb Stark, the North, marched South to attack King's Landing with two surprising allies?In this story, we see the survival of Robb Stark, Catelyn Stark, and what their survival means for House Stark, House Tyrell, House Lannister, and House Targaryen.And yes, for all those Robb Stark and Margaery Tyrell shippers, you are not alone.
Relationships: Jon Snow & Daenerys Targaryen, Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Robb Stark & Margaery Tyrell, Robb Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Comments: 347
Kudos: 386





	1. K I N G I N T H E N O R T H

Robb cursed at himself for agreeing to his arrangement with Lord Frey. The more time he spent with Talisa, the more he fell in love with her. She was unafraid to question his actions regarding war, nor was afraid to call him out on his bullshit, something no lady he had ever met, had done.

Catelyn, his mother, had crossed too many boundaries, and he did not want to hear her council. Robb's mother expressed her concerns for his growing feelings for the healer, and Robb, though he wouldn't admit it to Catelyn, was right. "Remember your allegiance to House Frey. We need their armies, and their bridge to defeat the Lannisters."

"I know, mother," Robb snapped. "Must you remind me every second?"

"I'm sorry if my concerns are annoying to you, Robb, but we need House Frey's support more than ever."

"How can we trust them? Not after I received this?" Robb handed his mother a note that held evidence of House Frey's and House Bolton's betrayal on it.

"What is this?" Catelyn asked, quickly opening the scroll and reading. "Who gave this to you?"

"It doesn't matter," Robb sighed. "What matters is that we're making deals with Houses that want to see ours destroyed. House Bolton is a Northern House, yet, they wish to see us dead. House Frey does not wish to see our alliance true."

"Gods, help us," Catelyn gasped, covering her mouth with a shaky hand. "We need to kill them before they cause us to lose this war! The Lannisters have your sister's!"

"I know that!" Robb turned toward his mother, his face bubbling with anger. "I am King of the North, my men depend on me, my younger sisters depend on me, and my mother depends on me to avenge my father! I want to make House Lannister suffer! But I don't know who will help us!"

"Stannis Baratheon!"

"What?" Robb looked at his mother as if she lost her mind. "Stannis Baratheon? Robert's brother?"

"Yes! He wishes to be King of the Seven Kingdoms. You have to desire to sit on the Iron Throne, but if we wish to have the North be independent, we need a house which has been faithful to House Stark."

"What makes you think Stannis will ever support us? He killed his brother!"

"We pledge our loyalty to him. Support him as the true King of the Seven Kingdoms!" Catelyn pressed. "What other choice do we have, Robb?" As crazy as Catelyn's plan sounded, Robb, knew they did not have another choice if they were going to win against the Lannisters.

__________________________

Robb, Catelyn, Brienne of Tarth, and several Northmen, arrived in Stormsland, where Stannis Baratheon and the half of Renly's army, who pledged themselves to the last living Baratheon camped.

Robb noticed that Brienne kept her hand sturdy on the hilt of her sword as they made way to Stannis's tent. There, Robb met the Baratheon heir, Ser Davos, and Melisandre, the Red Priestess. "Your Grace, King Robb Stark, Lady Catelyn Stark, and Brienne of Tarth," Davos introduced the trio.

Stannis studied the trio, especially Brienne, "I don't know whether to say you're rather brave or stupid for arriving back to the Stormsland after the death of my brother," Stannis said to Brienne, who looked at Stannis with a murderous glare.

"Everyone in this room knows that I did not kill Renly Baratheon," Brienne stated, looking from Stannis, to Davos, then lastly to Melisandre.

"You're right," Stannis replied. "So what brings the Starks to Stormsland?"

"We plan on attacking King's Landing and killing the Lannisters," Robb replied. "We want to avenge the death of my father."

Stannis's eyes widened as he took in Robb's words. "Do you plan on taking the Iron Throne for yourself?"

"No, My Lord," Robb replied. "I have no interest in sitting on the Iron Throne. My home is Winterfell, and that's where I intend to rule until the end of my days."

"So, you're claiming the North as independent?"

"The North deserves it," Robb replied.

Stannis looked from Robb to Catelyn. "You came to the Stormsland to ally with my brother, Renly. Is that true?"

"It is, My Lord," Catelyn responded. "Though, I put my faith in the wrong Baratheon."

"And now, you wish to ally with me, as your true King? You need my armies to overtake King's Landing and to kill the Lannisters. What do you want in return? What do I get out of this alliance?"

"You are the legitimate heir to the Iron Throne, My Lord. You are an experienced battle commander, but even with half of Renly's army, you would not be able to take King's Landing by yourself," Robb stated bluntly. "If we allied, you would get the North's support as the true King of the Seven Kingdoms, and our armies."

Stannis turned to Melisandre. "What do you think about this? What does the Lord of Light say?"

Melisandre walked towards Robb with her intimidating stare. She was a beautiful woman who wore a tight red dress that clung to the curves of her body. Her hair reminded Robb off the blood leaves on the weirwood tree back at Winterfell. "I believe he is telling the truth, My Lord," Melisandre said, as she placed her cold hand on Robb's face. "He plays a part in your journey, and the darkness that will soon come."

Robb didn't understand what Melisandre meant, but he chose to remain silent. The Red Priestess caressed the Stark boy's face before dropping her hand and returning to stand by Stannis. She bent down and whispered in his ear, before returning her intense gaze back to Rob. Stannis stood from his chair to come and stand before the King of the North. "Do you believe in the Lord of Light?" he asked Robb.

"The North believes in the old gods," Robb replied.

Stannis reached out his hand, and Robb took it, sliding his larger one to grip Stannis's elbow. "I agree to help you, Lord Robb Stark. I will help you defeat the Lannister's for the name of your father, as long as you support me as the true heir to the Seven Kingdoms. In return, I will grant the North its independence, once we win the war."

______________________________________

Robb, his mother, and Brienne left Stormsland with a new ally, who would join their camps in several days. As they traveled back to the Westerland's, an idea popped into Robb's head. "How far away are we from Highgarden?" He asked his mother.

"A half days travel," Catelyn replied. "Why?"

"To defeat House Lannister, we need all the help we can get."

"House Tyrell?" Catelyn shouted. "Are you mad? The Tyrell's are in the Lannister's pocket. If they find out that we've allied with the man who killed his brother, who killed Queen Margaery's husband, what do you think they will do to us?"

"Littlefinger is with House Tyrell," Robb admitted.

"Littlefinger?" This was news to Catelyn. "How do you now?"

"I have my ways, mother."

The travel to Highgarden was quicker than the trio thought. As they approached the walls of the great castle, they were greeted with half of Renly's soldiers, cursing, spitting, and throwing ale at Brienne. Littlefinger met them at the gate, surprised to see the two Starks. Highgarden was a beautiful castle, surrounded by golden roses and green fields. It was a lot different from Winterfell. It was filled with light from its open windows, allowing the fresh summer air to fill the castle.

Littlefinger accompanied Robb, Catelyn, and Brienne to the throne room. "My Lords and Ladies," Littlefinger greeted Lady Olenna, Queen Margaery, Lord Mace, and Lord Willas. "This is King Robb Stark, Lady Catelyn Stark, and Brienne of Tarth. This is Lady Olenna, Lord Mace, Queen Margaery, and Lord WillasTyrell." 

"Why are you here?" Lady Olenna asked, not wasting a moment.

"I've come to ask for your help in the war against House Lannister," Robb replied.

"I'm assuming this as to do with the death of your father?" Lord Mace asked.

"Yes, My Lord," Robb replied. "We have just come from Stormsend and,"

"Stormsend?" Queen Margaery gasped. "You've seen Stannis Baratheon then?"

"Yes," Catelyn responded. "We pledged our allegiance to him as he has pledged his allegiance to our cause."

"And now you ask us to pledge our allegiance to support a man who murdered his brother? Murdered my husband? A good, young man!" Lady Olenna placed her hand on Margaery's arm, silencing her.

"My granddaughter raises great concern. I suppose he asked you to support his claim to the Iron Throne?" Lady Olenna asked.

"Yes, My Lady," Robb replied sheepishly.

"What did he promise you in return?"

"The North's independence."

"And you believe him?" Lord Mace asked, taking Robb as a Northern fool.

"No," Robb replied. "I do not." He could feel his mother look at him, surprised by his truth.

"You already have a plan in your head," Lady Olenna asked, a small smile tugging at her lips.

"Yes, My Lady. Stannis believes he is the true heir to the Iron Throne, but he is mistaken. Queen Daenerys Targaryen, the last living Targaryen, is still alive in Essos and has three dragons. Soon, she will have an army. How long do you think it will take her to attack King's Landing?"

Lady Olenna sat back in her chair while her family looked at one another. "Well, I was wrong about Northerners being fools."

"Most of us are," Robb smiled. "I pledged allegiance to Stannis Baratheon because I need his armies. I know he will not grant the North its independence, but I believe Daenerys will, especially with the council she maintains."

"And what do you need from us?" Lord Mace asks.

"My two younger sisters are still in King's Landing. Sansa, who is betrothed to Joffrey against her will, and Arya. I wish to see them alive."

"What will that do for our House?" Lord Mace asked, growing impatient.

"With the defeat of House Lannister and two Northern Houses that conspire against us, Riverrun will need a Lord to run it. Your son and my younger sister, Sansa, can wed and run Riverrun together. As for me, when the North becomes independent, I will need a Queen." Margaery and Willas shared an unreadable look between one another, but he could read the look on both Olenna's and Mace's face. "Winterfell might not be as beautiful as Highgarden, but the North is a peaceful place."

Olenna leaned forward in her chair. "How do you manage to get your younger sisters out alive?"

"We have a valuable hostage," Catelyn replied. "We have Jaime Lannister, brother of Cersei Lannister, and son of Tywin Lannister."

Lady Olenna smiled as did Lord Mace. "I think that everyone has underestimated House Stark."


	2. T H E   F A L L  O F   H O U S E    L A N N I S T E R

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stannis and the remaining Lannisters fight, the famous battle known as the Battle of Blackwater.

Tywin was at a loss for words for the first time in his life. Robb Stark, his opponent, kept winning, and Tywin kept misunderstanding the newly declared King. They had suffered three significant defeats, and his son, Jaime, was Robb's captive. Tywin knew he needed to do something fast, to have more allies, smart ones, more significant than the men that worshipped Robb, but he was afraid that no one would come to his aid.

As Tywin called a war council to discuss a new strategy to defeat his enemy, he was growing frustrated. Ser Amory Lorch had misdirected a communique into the hands of their enemies and was more frustrated with the fact that he could hardly read. What kind of Knight could scarcely read, or kept making mistakes? Tywin wanted the best; no, he needed the best.

"Lord Peter Baelish," one of Tywin's men announced. His guest was unexpected, but maybe this is what Tywin needed.

"Give us the room," he dismissed his bannerman. This conversation between him and the Lord needed to be private.

"What news from the capital?" Tywin asked the ratty looking Lord.

"I've traveled here directly from Renly Baratheon's camp," Lord Baelish announced.

"Ah, late King Renly. Rather a short reign. Murdered by a woman, I hear."

"So they say. There has been talk of other forces at work, dark forces."

Tywin stopped Arry, a young girl he's taken a liking to. She was young enough to be his granddaughter, smart for her age, traveling as a man to survive. There was more than she was telling him, and Tywin's curiosity was getting the better of him. He held out his wine cup for her to fill before continuing his conversation with Lord Baelish. "Men love to blame demons when their grand plans unravel."

The two men talked, Lord Baelish trying to prove how smart he was, but it began annoying Tywin. He needed forces to defeat Robb Stark, not riddles or pleasantries. "After the Lannisters and the Starks, the Tyrells command the largest hopes. Their lands are the most fertile in the Seven Kingdoms, feeding horses and soldiers, but the Tyrell's have not yet declared for any of the surviving kings. Loras wants revenge; he blames Stannis for Renly's death and Margaery,"

"Wants to be Queen," Tywin finished for Lord Baelish. Tywin heard of her beauty, of her social standing. She wouldn't be a bad match for Joffrey or even Tommen. But, Tywin has not forgotten of their past. "House Tyrell rebelled against the Iron Throne; against my grandson."

"Yes, they did, and perhaps that treason should be punished one day. After Stannis and Robb Stark are defeated." Tywin understood what Lord Baelish was saying. They will be enough bloodshed against the War of the Five Kings. Houses will become extinct; one more House could wait.

Over the weeks, Robb Stark continued his victories in the Westerlands, taking captives at Yellow Fork, and forcing the surrender of the Crag. Tywin knew Robb was closing in on Casterly Rock, and the older man was desperate. Tywin caught word that Stannis Baratheon and Robb Stark swore allegiance to one another, and House Tyrell rebelled against House Lannister and joined his enemies. Tywin knew that this war was his last.

_______________________________________

War was coming to King's Landing by the hands of House Stark, House Baratheon, and House Tyrell. Tywin, her father, sent a raven letting them know that Stannis had planned to attack by the waterside, and House Stark had taken Casterly Rock. Cersei knew their deaths were coming. Tyrion, her dwarf brother, tried to counsel her about her son, King Joffrey.

"I'd always hoped he'd be like Jaime," Cersei confessed, admitting without admitting to the truth about her incestuous relationship with her twin brother. "He looks like him; in a certain night."

"The boys more Robert than Jaime," Tyrion responded, though Cersei knew Tyrion didn't believe that Joffrey was Robert's.

"Robert was a drunken fool," Cersei dryly laughed. "But he didn't enjoy cruelty. Sometimes I wonder if this is the price for what we've done for our sins."

"Sins? The Targaryens,"

"Wed brother and sister for hundreds of years, I know. That's what Jaime and I would say to each other in our moments of doubt. It's what I told Ned Stark when he was stupid enough to confront me. Half the Targaryens went mad, didn't they? What's the saying? Every time a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin."

Tyrion was reassuring with his words. "You've beaten the odds. Tommen and Myrcella are good, decent children, both of them." It was a moment where Cersei didn't look at her Tyrion as the boy who killed their mother, but as a brother, she loved.

When Cersei learned that Joffrey would lead their army on the battlefield, anger surged through her. Joffrey was not a skilled fighter; he did not take after Jaime. Though it was her fault, she had spoiled the sour child too much. Tyrion was to blame. After their conversation about not being able to control Joffrey, who they both might be mad, Tyrion sent of Myrcella, supposedly for her safety, yet, here they were, fighting a losing war.

Cersei threatened Tyrion; he only humored her. Tyrion didn't understand why Cersei didn't want Joffrey on the battlefield. He had no children, nor did he care for hers. If they were going to die, Cersei did not want her children to die by the hands of Stannis or the bloody Starks.

"We should send for Myrcella. I don't want her dying by the hands of our enemies," Cersei snapped, panic running through her veins.

"There is no time," Tyrion replied. "She will be safe in Dorne."

"We won't be able to protect her once we're dead!" Cersei cried.

"You'd rather give them a proper death?"

"I'd give them a peaceful death. What do you think Stannis or the Stark's would do to my children? Joffrey beheaded Ned and placed his severed head on a spike."

"The Starks are not cruel people," Tyrion replied. "But, I will have Varys send a raven to Dorne, insuring her safety, even after our deaths." Cersei knew if they sent for her daughter, she would arrive after the war. Myrcella was safer in Dorne, but if Cersei were to die, she wanted to die with her children. Tyrion called for Varys.

"Lord Varys left, M'Lord," Tyrion's guardsman announced.

"Left? Left where?" Tyrion asked.

"He left King's Landing. He said to give you this." The man handed Tyrion a letter. Tyrion looked at Cersei, confused just as she was.

"Queen Cersei Lannister,

By now, you and Lord Tyrion have noticed my absence, as you have been delivered this letter. In times of war, we must make decisions for the survival of ourselves, but sometimes the world is cruel, and our deaths cannot be prevented. I have served three Kings, but my loyalties have always remained with one house. I no longer support House Lannister as I make my way to Essos to offer my counsel to Daenerys Targaryen, the true heir of the Seven Kingdoms.

I wish you good fortune in the wars to come,

Varys."

Cersei scoffed at Varys letter. "Traitors snake," she hissed. "My father should have had Varys beheaded the moment Aerys was defeated."

"He was good at his job; you can't deny that," Tyrion said, still staring at the scroll. How could Varys abandon them? How could his friend do that?

"We could've found someone better. Men are easily replaced, Kings and Queens, one after another, we have done it for centuries."

"And we'll be next." Tyrion had now picked up his glass of wine and began drinking again, trying to wet his dry throat. "Stannis's fleet arrives tomorrow at Blackwater."

"And you want Joffrey to be front and center," Cersei said.

"As he should," Tyrion responded. "He is our King."

Cersei's glare was murderous, fear pricking her eyes. "Since you so desperately wish to see the deaths of my children, I will murder the whore you care about, so all you feel is pain before you die."

Cersei left Tyrion alone with her lingering threats. Tyrion would be a fool if he said Cersei didn't scare him. She was one of the most powerful women in Westeros. Tyrion rubbed at the pounding in his head when a knock sounded throughout his room. "It better be good," Tyrion called out. His guardsman from before entered his room, looking nervous. "What is it?"

"I have a letter for you," he handed Tyrion another scroll. "Lord Varys told me to give you this letter when you are alone, sir."

Tyrion waited until his guardsman left him alone again, and opened the scroll. "Dear friend,

I am sorry to leave you during your time of need. You have always been a great friend to me over the years, if not my only friend. For this, I will tell you, for I hope you keep this in secrecy. I have been conspiring with Robb Stark for several months now, and I plan to travel to Casterly Rock to talk with Lady Catelyn Stark and King Robb. They know how you have helped to keep their eldest daughter safe from harm's way. They will spare your life; it is the favor I was granted. I know this will not be the last time we see one another.

Your Friend,

Varys."

Tyrion wiped at his eyes, rereading his friend's words. Varys was the only person, besides Jaime, who respected him. The two bonded over their shared love of wine and politics. Plus, they were both considered outcasts, where Varys served King Aerys, and Tyrion was a dwarf. Tyrion wished he could believe Varys words that they would see one another again, but Tyrion knew that he would die tomorrow by the hand of his family's enemies.

__________________________________________________

The horns sounded, signaling that Stannis had arrived with his massive fleet. Cersei and Tyrion were waiting anxiously together, an understanding silence between the two estranged siblings. Tyrion and Cersei knew that the war was lost, but they were Lannisters, children of Tywin Lannister, and they were not going down with a fight.

Tyrion stood on the battlements of the Red Keep looking out into the ocean, where he could see Stannis's extensive fleet, gathering. A few were close to shore, while the others floated in the distance, just barely seeing their silhouette hidden in the fog. Half of the Lannister army had marched North, leaving the castle walls understaffed.

Tyrion could hear the footsteps of Joffrey and the Hound coming to stand behind him. "There's only one ship," Joffrey noted. "Where are the rest of them?" Joffrey's voice mirrored the panic Tyrion felt internally. Tyrion had never seen wildfire used before, but Cersei promised Tyrion that just a little of it could destroy more than half of King's Landing.

Tyrion waited until he could see the green sheen of wildfire glisten in the moonlight when the older man charged to fill the boat met Tyrion on the battlements. The older man gave Tyrion a toothless grin as he handed him a lit torch. Tyrion knew Commander Bronn was waiting far up the shore for his signal. Tyrion threw the torch into the air and waited.

Off into the distance, he could see a dim fire arrow hovering in the sky, lowering until it landed in the water, igniting the wildfire. A tremendous explosion obliterated the leading ships of Stannis's fleet. Wildfire filled the air, blinding Tyrion and the Lannister army, the heat piercing their skin. My gods, Tyrion, questioned what had he done as he listened to the horrific screams of men being burned alive.

As Joffrey laughed behind Tyrion in disbelief, his laughter stopped short when they heard the yells of the remainder of Stannis's men, approaching the shore. More than half of Stannis's fleet was destroyed but insufficient to stop the significant Baratheon troops from coming on the banks of Blackwater Rush, below the city.

Clegan left, preparing the archers to attack the Baratheon troops. Tyrion remained on the battlements with Joffrey watching their men shoot fire arrows and throwing large stones down upon their enemies. Tyrion could feel himself shake as fear settled deeper into his bones. The Hound had made his way back up the wall, as he faltered when his fear of fire overcame him.

"Can I get you some ice milk and a nice bowl of raspberries too?" Tyrion asked Clegan as he chugged wine.

"Eat shit, dwarf," he replied.

"You're on the wrong side of the wall," Tyrion continued, trying to sound intimidating, but failing.

"I lost half of my men. The blackwater is on fire," Clegan's fear making a bulky appearance.

"Dog, I command you to go back out there and fight!" Joffrey childishly commanded.

"Your Kingsguard, Clegan," Tyrion reminded. "We must beat them back, or they will take the city." But the Hound didn't care; he just chugged his wine. "Your Kings city."

"Fuck the Kingsguard! Fuck the city! Fuck the King!" Tyrion stared as one of the most skilled fighters walked away. They were fucked.

_______________________________

Cersei waited in Maegor's Holdfast, listening to the muffled sounds of war. Worry filled her stomach, the wine she heavily drank doing nothing to settle it, as she thought about her son in the line of battle. She watched the women who gathered helplessly, sit around, holding hands with Sansa Stark, praying as if any gods would help them.

"Who do you pray for, Lady Sansa? For us all? For Joffrey?" she asked the Stark girl.

"Yes, Your Grace," Sansa sheepishly replied, but Cersei knew better. Cersei knew she prayed for their deaths, maybe even her own.

"Oh shut up, you little fool," Cersei snapped. "Praying to the gods to have mercy on us all. The gods have no mercy; that's why they're gods. My father taught me that when he caught me praying. My mother just died, you see. I didn't really understand the concept of death, the finality of it. I thought that if I prayed very, very hard, the gods would return my mother to me. I was four."

"Your father doesn't believe in the gods?" Sansa gasped.

"He believes in them; he just doesn't like them very much." Cersei sat down her glass and had wine poured for Sansa, who looked like she could faint at any moment. Cersei watched, then taught Sansa how to drink ale, as she confessed her feelings duly. Gods, she hated sitting here, locked up with women who had personalities of a brick.

The door to the holdfast opened, and Lancel, one of Joffrey's Kingsguardsman, walked in. "What news?" Cersei asked.

"The imp has sat the river on fire. Hundreds of ships are burning, maybe more. Stannis's fleet destroyed but," Lancel lowered his voice, not wanting to startle the women. "These troops have landed outside the city walls."

Cersei knew that Stannis's army would breach the wall. Not unless some miracle happened. "Where is Joffrey?"

"On the battlements with Lord Tyrion."

"Bring him back inside at once," Cersei demanded.

"But, Your Grace,"

"What?" Cersei snapped.

"The King's presence is good for morale!" She didn't give a flying fuck.

"Bring him back to this chambers now!"

Lancel left, as Cersei demanded more wine. Sansa stared at the lioness, like a scared little doe. "Do you know why Stannis is here? He's here for us. He may take the city, he may take the throne, but he will not take us alive." Sansa looked down at her wine and realized Cersei's plan. She had not poisoned it yet, but once Stannis has breached the walls, Ser Ilyn Payne knew what to do.

Cersei held on to Tommen's hand, waiting for Lancel to return with the news that Joffrey. "Stannis has breached the walls! I want to take Joffrey back to battle! His men lost all hope!"

"I don't care what you want!" Cersei dug her finger into Lancel's wound, dropping him to his knees in pain. She grabbed Tommen's hand and walked out of the Holdfast, making her way to the throne room. "Bring Joffrey to me!" She barked at the nearest guard.

____________________________________

Tyrion waited, listening to the pounding of Stannis's men's march as they successfully breached the wall. Tyrion knew that this was it as he climbed down to the shore. A moment's silence until the Baratheon army stormed them. "Fuck me," Tyrion gasped as he held up his sword that was larger than him.

Men attacked them, coming in large numbers and ruthless. Tyrion stood there, scared and shaking, shouting orders, making sure he stayed alive. Tyrion swung, struggling to fight the giant Baratheon soldier. Luckily Podrick saved him before his friend hit him with the back of a sword, knocking Tyrion out cold.

_________________________________________

Cersei sat on the throne, Tommen in her lap, waiting for Joffrey. "What is going on, mother?" Joffrey asked as he walked closer.

Cersei held out her hand, begging for Joffrey to take it. "Come, my son," she called, her eyes pricking with unshed tears.

"They've breached the walls. We're going to die." Joffrey stated.

"Yes," she smiled, before rubbing a soothing hand in Tommend's golden hair. "But not by the hands of our enemies." Cersei held out two vials containing a clear liquid, poison. "We will not die in any pain."

Joffrey stared at his mother in disbelief. "You want me to kill myself?" he snapped. "You think I'm a coward? That I'm afraid of my enemies?"

"You killed Ned Stark. You beheaded him and placed his head on a spike. How do you think the North will treat you once they get their hands on you?"

Cersei could hear banging from the halls, shouting, and sound of metal against metal. "Drink, Tommen!" Cersei pressed the vial to Tommen's lips when Robb Stark entered the throne room. "Joffrey, drink!"

But Joffrey did not move; he was shocked to see that his enemy in his home.

"Joffrey, drink! Do it now!" Cersei cried, tears spilling down her cheeks as she held an unconscious Tommen in her lap.

Several Northern men ran towards them, but Robb stopped them from attacking. "No! All the Lannisters must stay alive! Arrest them!"

Cersei turned to look at Joffrey, who still held the vial in his hand. The Northern men grabbed at Joffrey, which she tried to stop, but he slapped her hard across the face, knocking her unconscious. The last thing she saw was Joffrey dragged away, and Tommend's dead body, lying in her lap.


	3. THE RISE OF TWO GREAT HOUSES

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the fall of one great house, two more rises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been enjoying reading your feedback and the passion y'all have about Game of Thrones!

Cheering erupted throughout the throne room as Stannis held up King Joffrey’s crown. “This is for us!” Stannis shouted, earning more cheers and applause. His allies, Robb and Catelyn Stark and House Tyrell, stood below the throne, smiling and cheering him on. “This is for my allies!”

A few days passed before Stannis requested council with House Tyrell and House Stark. There was an urgent matter that needed attention. “My Lords and Ladies,” Stannis greeted the room. “I have won the Seven Kingdoms with your help and your armies, now, we must decide on what needs to be done about the Lannisters.”

“We would all enjoy taking turns to make the Lannister’s suffer, but I think House Stark deserves to wield the sword that kills them,” Lady Olyenna spoke.

“Aye, I agree,” Stannis replied. “They were behind the murder of your father, who I respected. They’ve held your two young sister hostages. It’s the favor I can offer for your allegiance.”

Stannis could see Robb shake with a buried fury. “How they treated my father even after death, I want the same thing done to them! I want Tywin to watch as I behead each member of his family. The Lannisters deserves far worse.”

“And Tyrion? He’s a traitor, no? Does he not deserve a traitor’s death?” Stannis asked.

“Tyrion has always been different from the rest of the Lannisters,” Robb explained. “I want you to spare his life.”

“Spare his life?” Stannis gasped, “And why would I do that?”

“Lord Varys and I have been in correspondence with one another for months. He’s the reason why I know everything. Varys has also informed me that Tyrion has protected my sister, Sansa, against Joffrey. He didn’t have to protect her, he could’ve let Joffrey belittle her, or rape her, or defile her, but he didn’t. Tyrion is a good man; this I know from experience,” Robb defended his choice. “Kill the rest of the Lannisters, but spare Tyrion.”

___________________________

Robb found himself wandering down to the dark cells that homed the living members of House Lannister. Catelyn, his mother, was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs. He wasn’t surprised to see her, Robb knew she needed her closure. “Leave us,” he ordered one a Baratheon’s guardsmen. The first cell held Cersei and Joffrey, who had grown dirty over the last week. Tywin had the second cell to himself, and the two Lannister brothers shared the third.

“If it isn’t the eldest son and widow of the late traitorous Ned Stark,” Tywin Lannister noted as Robb stood in sight of all three cells. “Have you come to bring us some wine? Or food? Even the night before Ned’s death, we were kind to him.”

Robb pushed down the anger that Tywin was trying to evoke from him. They were just words, insulted by a prisoner who will die by his hands, Robb reminded himself. Catelyn immediately walked closer to Cersei and Joffrey’s cell, staring at the mother and son duo.

“What are you looking at, you hag?” Joffrey spit at Catelyn.

“I don’t know how I never saw it, but it’s as clear as day now,” Catelyn shook her head in disgust.

Cersei looked at Catelyn, and it was the first time that the Lannister woman looked afraid of her enemy.

“What are you talking about, woman?” Joffrey snapped, annoyed by Catelyn’s presence.

“When my husband came to King’s Landing, he discovered something that ultimately got him killed. You made him falsely confess to seizing the throne for himself, to save the reputation of your family. Ned learned the truth about your children, didn’t he?” Catelyn asked Cersei.

“What truth is there about my grandchildren that I don’t know?” Tywin asked.

“Robert Baratheon is not their father,” Catelyn continued. “Jaime is.”

“That’s ridiculous!” The older lion scuffed. “Lies by a usurper.”

Catelyn stepped towards Tywin. “I thought I had gone mad after Bran’s accident. I had refused to accept that he fell from the tower he climbed every day, and my suspicions were right. I found a piece of blonde hair on top of the tower. I traveled to King’s Landing and expressed my suspicions with my husband. Ned searched and found the truth when he looked into House Baratheon’s history. Dark hair is a trait of theirs, one that Robbbert’s bastards shared. Yet, Cersei’s children have golden hair like their mother and their real father’s.”

“What is she talking about, mother?” Joffrey asked.

Cersei stood and wiped her hands on her dress. “It was unfortunate that your son discovered Jaime and me in the tower. Ned was stupid enough to confront me about it. I wasn’t going to let anything stand in the way of Joffrey becoming King, or anything that could destroy my family! ” Cersei wickedly smiled. “Everything they say about Jaime and me is true.”

“No,” Tywin shook his head in denial. “I don’t believe you!”

“We were right there in front of you, and you didn’t even see us!” The tears fell from Cersei’s eyes as she grabbed the cell’s bars.

“Enough!” Tywin shouted. “Stop lying!”

“Did mother never tell you that she found Jaime and me in bed together? Did you never wonder why mother moved Jaime to the other side of the castle or why guards stood outside my chamber? Mother knew about us, father!”

“Don’t you dare soil your mother’s memory!”

“Your legacy is a lie!

Robb looked over at the cell where Jaime and Tyrion sat on opposite sides. Tyrion’s back faced Robb, but Jaime was a mess. Like Cersei, his face was wet with tears, and like his father, he sat with his hands over his ears. Robb looked at his mother, whose face split into a wide grin. Catelyn was getting her revenge for Bran, for Ned, and her family.

Joffrey had leaned against the wall, unable to look at his mother. Robb would’ve felt pity for the boy if Joffrey wasn’t such a monster. “Now, you will die knowing the truth, Lord Tywin. You will understand the pain your family has caused my house. The Lannister’s legacy ends here!” Catelyn hissed.

“You forget about Myrcella,” Tywin replied, unable to accept his death. “Our legacy lives within her!”

“What good does a marriage arrangement do if her family is dead? Oberyn has always resented House Lannister. Does he not blame you, Lord Tywin, for the cruel death of his sister. Do you think Myrcella will be protected?” Catelyn asked.

“No! My daughter is innocent in all of this!” Cersei cried, throwing herself against the bars. “You cannot do this! She is innocent!”

Catelyn smiled as she turned on her heel, leaving the dark cells. Cersei screamed and cursed at Robb’s mother, but Catelyn did not turn around once. Tywin remained stoic, whereas Jaime and Tyrion had grown pale. “Winter has come for House Lannister,” Robb stated before exiting the dark cells, Cersei’s screams slowly fading away.

_________________________________

Maegor’s Holdfast was full of shivering women as they heard the screams of and the clashing of metal. Sansa knew that Stannis Baratheon’s army had captured King’s Landing. Sansa looked at Ser Ilyn Payne, who was pouring some sort of liquid into the wine pitcher.

“Drink girl,” the man ordered Sansa as he thrust a cup of wine in her hand. Sansa looked down at her mug, hearing the noise of war growing louder. She had a choice, either drink the wine and die, or be captured by Stannis. There was no choice to be made. “I said drink!” Ser Ilyn pushed towards her, but Sansa threw her cup of poison in his face. The large man fell to his knees, screaming as he scratched at his eyes.

Sansa watched in horror at the sight in front of her. How painful did Cersei wish her death? Loud banging startled the women who had quickly huddled behind Sansa, trusting her to protect them. Sansa grabbed the wine pitcher and dropped it, picking up a large shard of glass and holding it out in front of her. She was no match for the soldiers, but she wouldn’t just sit like a lamb who was waiting to be slaughtered.

Men wearing stag armor filled the room, their swords ready to strike, the women screamed in horror. Sansa did not lower the shard of glass, despite her hand trembling violently. “What kind of King do you serve if you dare to strike defenseless women?” Sansa hissed, failing to sound brave.

“Forgive me,” the man lowered his sword, as did the others.

“Who has won?” Sansa asked.

“King Stannis Baratheon,” the man answered. “He waits in the throne room.”

The soldiers escorted the group of women to the throne room. As they made the journey, Sansa could see the soldiers of dead Lannister men, eyes open, as if they didn’t expect their death to be sudden. Lannister's flags were on the ground, signifying the end of the Lannister reign.

Sansa entered the throne room, and to be honest, she was sick of it. How many times had she entered this room, expecting to be abused, to be ridiculed by the hands of Joffrey? Now, she was yet again to be ridiculed by a Baratheon.

“Are these all the women?” An older man sat on the iron throne, exerting his dominance. “I thought there’d be more of the lot.”

The older man stood up, displaying the large stag on the chest of his armor. Sansa knew this was Stannis, Robert's brother. They looked nothing alike, Robbbert was thicker set and dark-headed, whereas Stannis was slender and grey. “Alright,” Stannis said, eyeing the group of girls. “Which one of you is Sansa Stark?”

Sansa froze at his question. How did he know who she was and what did he want with her? Stannis studied each young girl until his gaze landed on a dark-headed girl who was a year younger than Sansa. “You must be her,” he spoke, putting his fingers under the girl's chin and raising her head. “You're dark-headed, but I don’t see any Ned in you. You must favor the Tully’s more.”

The door opened, and Sansa turned to see her brother, Robb, and mother, Catelyn walking into the throne room. “Have ya find her?” Robb asked. “Have you found my sister?”

“Aye,” Stannis turned the young girl around to face Robb and Catelyn. “Here, she is.”

Catelyn and Robb eyed the girl then Stannis. “That’s not Sansa,” Catelyn hissed. “My daughter's hair color is red.” Catelyn’s eyes scanned the group of girls until she landed on Sansa, who was frozen. “Sansa?”

Robb turned to where his mother was staring, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Dear gods,” he gasped.

Catelyn ran towards her daughter and engulfed her into a massive hug. “I fear I’d never see you again,” her body shook with sobs. Robb stood patiently waiting until Sansa released her mother.

“We feared Joffrey had murdered you,” Robb said. “

“He wanted to,” Sansa sniffed. “Cersei came close tonight.”

Catelyn motherly tucked a loose strand of Sansa’s hair behind her ear as Robb scanned the line of girls. “Where’s Arya?” he asked, turning back to face Sansa.

“I haven’t seen Arya since the death of father,” Sansa explained. “Father told us that he was sending us back to Winterfell for our safety after he was injured. After his death, we tried to escape, but I was caught! If Arya hasn't been seen then I know she must have had help escaping.”

Catelyn hugged her daughter close. “Robb, we must find Arya!”

______________________________________

Arya smelled horrible, her arse was numb, and she was tired of riding with the Hound who smelt worse. They were traveling to Casterly Rock, where they heard Robb had taken it from Tywin’s grip. “We’re close, girl,” the Hound said. The Hound found the Stark camp nearby, Arya saw the direwolf sigil waving in the breeze. “Soon, I’ll have my gold, and you’ll have your family.”

“You won’t have your gold for long,” Arya mumbled. “I’ll have my brother kill you!”

The Hound barked out a laugh that was even unusual for him. “I don’t think that’d be a wise decision, girl.”

Arya wanted to curse him all to seven hells, but the giddiness she felt at being reunited with her mother and Robb dulled her anger. They fell in line, waiting as each wagon, horse and man, were inspected. “What brings yer business?” A Northern soldier asked.

“Who’s won the war?” the Hound asked.

“Stannis Baratheon has taken over King’s Landing with the help of the North and House Tyrell,” The Northern explained.

“Good,” The Hound grabbed Arya, throwing her from his horse. “Tell Robb and Catelyn Stark that I have their daughter, Arya Stark.”

“Arya Stark?” the soldier gasped, looking at the young girl who resembled a boy with her short hair. “This isn’t Arya Stark! This is a boy! So fuck off!”

“Do you think I’m some sort of fucking pervert who holds children captive? Do you know who I am? I am Sandor Clegane, and I was a part of the Kingsguard for King Joffrey. Now, you’re wasting my time! Either send for Robb or Catelyn Stark, or I’ll take the Stark girl back.” Arya stepped forward to run, but the Hound grabbed the back of her shirt, pulling her against the side of his horse.

“Sir,” Arya pleaded with the Northern soldier. “I may not look like a girl, but I am the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark! Sister of King Robb Stark! I demand to see my family!”

“Even if you are telling the truth, they’re not here,” the Northern soldier replied. “They’re at King’s Landing with Stannis Baratheon.” The Hound picked up Arya and threw her over his horse. “Aye! Where do you think you’re taking her?”

“Fuck off,” the Hound barked before striking his sword across the solider’s face.

_______________________________________________

Arya wished the Hound dead with each step of his horse. As they were granted entrance to King’s Landing, Arya looked around, hoping death upon each citizen. She could still hear their shouts and excitement when Joffrey ordered her father to be beheaded. That was something she hated about the South, they had no loyalty, unlike the North, who was still loyal to her family, even after the death of her father.

The Hound slid off his horse, picking up Arya and throwing her over his shoulder. “Don’t try anything funny,” he barked.

“Put me down!” Arya shouted, punching the older man in his back. “I swear I’ll have my brother kill you if I don’t do it myself!”

The Hound ignored her threats as he walked through the Red Keep, towards the throne room, Baratheon soldiers escorting them. The Hound only let Arya down, keeping a firm hold on her shirt as they entered the throne room. Arya looked around and noticed the stag sigil hanging on the wall. “You stand in front of King Stannis Baratheon, the true heir of the Seven Kingdoms. Introduce yourself,” a man ordered.

“My name is Sandor Clegane, and I used to be Kingsguard of Joffrey Baratheon,” the Hound introduced himself.

“Sandor Clegane? Didn’t you gut a man in combat when you were just a boy?” Stannis asked. “The skilled warrior who goes by the Hound? What brings you here, and which King do you serve?”

“I serve no King,” the Hound replied. “I made that clear when I walked away from King Joffrey’s service.”

“Then why are you here and wasting my time?”

“I’m here to find King Robb Stark and Lady Catelyn Stark. I bring them their daughter, Arya Stark.”

“He doesn’t bring me,” Arya growled. “He holds me captive for some petty gold that was stolen from him.”

“This is Arya Stark? Ned’s youngest daughter? You cut her hair?”

“No,” Arya replied. “Yoren cut my hair to disguise me as a boy to send me back North after my father was murdered.”

“And how did you come across the Hound, Lady Arya?” Stannis asked.

Arya didn’t wish to answer his questions. She had questions of her own, like where was Gendry, and was he dead? “I was traveling along the Kingsroad when the Gold Cloaks attacked us. They killed Yoren and sent me to Harrenhal. I was disguised as a boy until Tywin Lannister noticed that I was a girl. I served as his cupbearer. When Tywin and his men left Harrenhal, I escaped and started traveling to Riverrun, where the Brotherhood Without Banners captured me. The Hound came in and exposed me,”

“I left the Brotherhood when your men and witch took my friend, and when the Brotherhood refused to take me home. The Hound was waiting and saw his opportunity; now, he holds me captive for some gold that the Brotherhood stole from him,” Arya explained.

“How much gold?” Stannis asked, walking towards the two.

“Enough for me to survive,” the Hound replied.

Stannis looked at Arya. “Send for Lady Catelyn Stark.”

“Where is Gendry?” Arya asked, Stannis. “Did you kill him?”

“No,” Stannis replied. “I need him for something else.”

“Who is he to you!”

Stannis smiled. “He is Robert Baratheon’s bastard, or that’s what people claim him to be. I’ll be the judge of it when I see him in person.”

Arya couldn’t believe it. Gendry, the boy who annoyed her more than anyone in the Seven Kingdoms, was Robert’s bastard.

___________________________

The doors to the throne room opened, and Lady Catelyn walked in. “Mother!” Arya gasped.

“Arya!” Arya ran to her mother, who engulfed her in a tight hug. “Thank gods!” Catelyn pulled back and examined her, picking at the short strands of her hair. “Who’s done this to you?”

“Yoren,” Arya replied. “He said it was much safer to travel as a boy back home!”

“Sansa and Robb will be happy to see you!”

“Sansa? She’s alive?”

“Yes. Sansa's in her chambers!”

Lady Catelyn squeezed her daughter again before turning towards the Hound. “You found her?” Catelyn asked.

“He kidnapped me!” Arya hissed. “All for some stupid gold!”

“It doesn’t matter,” Catelyn replied. “He kept you safe and brought you to us. I’ll see that you’re properly rewarded.” But the Hound didn’t seem pleased. “What?”

“Do you know where my brother, Gregor, is? I know your son took Harrenhal.”

“The last that I know of your brother’s whereabouts was that he was expelled from Stone Mill and fled South. If I had to guess, I assume he would be heading to Casterly Rock.”

__________________________________________

Arya united with Sansa and Robb before being ushered into a warm bath. Sansa commented about Arya’s hair, but she didn’t care. She was safe and with her family. As they ate dinner, a knock on the door sounded, and one of Robb’s men entered. “A raven from Winterfell.”

They watched as Robb opened the letter, his face growing pale, before reddening. “Theon has betrayed House Stark along with his father and sister. He’s beheaded Ser Rodrik Cassel!”

“What of your brothers? What of Bran and Rickon!”

“He’s burnt them alive!” Robb gasped. The room grew tense with silence before their grief overwhelmed them. “I must return to the Westerlands. I must speak with House Frey and House Bolton!”

“Robb, they wish to kill us!” Catelyn reminded him.

“Aye, but not just yet. I need the Bolton’s to take back Winterfell and imprison Theon. I want to execute him myself!”

“And what of House Frey?”

“As soon as the Bolton’s ride North, I will have my men attack the Twins, and I will execute Lord Frey for his treason, then we will march North and kill House Bolton.”

___________________________________

Robb stood in front of the remaining members of House Tyrell; Lord Mace Tyrell was killed in battle. “I offer you my condolences,” Robb said. “I received a letter from Winterfell. Theon Greyjoy, a ward to my father, has betrayed my house and burned my two younger brothers alive. I must march North and deal with crimes he has committed.”

“I’m assuming you’ll need our armies?” Lady Olenna asked.

“Yes, My Lady,” Robb replied. “I still plan on honoring my promise that I made to you and House Tyrell.”

“Good.” Margaery stood, the daughter of Mace Tyrell stood and walked to stand in front of Robb. She was a beautiful woman, with long, curling auburn hair and blue eyes. Her frame slender, but had a womanly figure with smooth, fair skin. Margaery smiled softly at Robb, and he felt his heart skip a beat. “You will marry my granddaughter after you have taken back Winterfell. Till then, she stays safe at Highgarden.”

“As for my sister Sansa and your grandson Willas,”

“Yes,” Lady Olenna interrupted him. “Since the death of my son, Willas has become Lord of Highgarden. Willas and Sansa will live here, together.”

Robb nodded. He knew he would miss the announcement of Sansa and Willas' betrothal and the execution of House Lannister, but the war was not over in the North.


	4. T H E  W A L L

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon fights to protect Castle Black as the war against the wildlings breaks out. Jon continues to try and persuade members of the Night's Watch that the freefolk is not their true enemy. Jon meets Stannis Baratheon as the king prepares for his war against Daenerys Targaryen who has come to reclaim the Iron Throne. Stannis needs men and he'll take whoever is able to fight, including Night's Watch brothers, and even the wildlings. 
> 
> Stannis finds out that the freefolk will not bow to any man beside their own. The king beyond the wall receives his punishment for his pride, while Stannis sets off for Winterfell after House Stark has reclaimed it. 
> 
> Jon learns that his good heart will get him killed.

THE WALL

Jon woke to the sound of knocking at his door. It wasn't a loud knock; it sounded unsure and strange. "Who is it?" he called out.

"It's Sam," the voice replied. Sam Tarly, the chubby black sheep of the Night's Watch and his dear friend.

"Alright, hold on." Jon groaned as he got up from his small bed; his body was tight and stiff from his injuries. Jon grabbed his breeches from the floor that Ghost, his direwolf, used as a bed. Jon frowned at the white furs that covered his pants. "Looks like you'll get better use from them than I will." He smiled affectionately at his pet.

Jon fumbled for another pair before shuffling to the door, allowing Sam to enter his chamber.

"I'm glad to see that you are up and moving," Sam said, closing the wooden door behind him.

"With some discomfort," Jon replied, hissing as he struggled to dress adequately. "But, I'm alive."

Sam waited until Jon was beginning to button up his shirt before he stated his reason for coming. "I've come with some news," Jon's friend said. "Your brother, Robb, with the help of Stannis Baratheon, defeated the Lannisters. Stannis now serves as King of the Seven Kingdoms." Jon paused, mid-action, surprised, and happy to hear the news. "Your sister's Arya and Sansa are alive too."

Jon visibly sighed, hearing Arya's name. He had a close relationship with Arya, maybe because she was too young to understand the concept of a bastard. If she did know the meaning of a bastard, she didn't show it. Jon looked over his shoulder to see Sam fiddling with his gloves. "What else do you have to tell me? It can't be good."

Sam cleared his throat. "Winterfell has fallen to the hands of the Bolton's."

"The Bolton's?" Jon gasped, turning so suddenly that his injuries protested against the movement. "They are a Northern family!" Jon stared wildly at Sam before realization hit. "Bran? Rickon?"

"They're safe," Sam quickly replied. "They fled Winterfell when Theon Greyjoy seized it."

Jon's body went cold. Theon? The boy that his father, Ned, raised as his own. Who treated Theon better than Jon had betrayed House Stark and the memory of Ned Stark, but for what reason? "Why? I don't understand!"

"In the name of his Theon's father," Sam explained. "Your brother sent the Bolton's to defeat Theon, but then they seized Winterfell for themselves."

"Did they kill Theon?" Jon asked, feeling the anger rise inside him. 

"No one's sure," Sam shrugged. "The Boltons refuse to answer, but no one's seen him." 

Jon turned towards his fireplace and stared deep into the amber of the burning wood. The flames matched the anger that flickered inside his chest. The North was falling apart without his father there to protect it. 

"There's one more thing," Sam said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Jon closed his eyes, not wanting to hear any more bad news. "What is it?"

"Bran is missing."

"What do you mean, Bran is missing? I thought you said he was safe?" Jon turned to face his friend.

"Well, you see, I ran into Bran at Nightfort. I noticed that he was your brother, by the direwolf, and well him being a cripple. I offered to bring him to Castle Black, but he told me that he was going beyond the wall."

"And you let him go?" Jon stepped towards Sam, who took a step back, shrinking from Jon's rage.

"I couldn't stop him," Sam stuttered. "The man he was with was twice the size of me!"

"You know what is out there, Sam!" Jon shouted, grabbing Sam's shirt, lunging his friend towards him. Sam let out a startled yell. "You sent him to his death!"

"I'm sorry, Jon! Truly, I am! I had Gilly with me and," but Jon cut him off.

"Get out!" He shouted at his friend, who was too shocked to move. Jon, who had not let go of Sam's shirt, drug the poor boy to the door and nearly flung him out. 

___________________

Jon's thoughts of his brother were fresh on his mind as he stood in front of a panel of his five sworn brothers, including Maester Aemon, acting Lord Commander Alliser Thorne, and Janos Slynt. The latter called upon him to testify his actions, including the slaying of the Halfhand.

"So, you admit you murdered Qhorin Halfhand?"

"I didn't murder him," Jon replied.

"No? You put a sword through a brother of the Night's Watch. What do you call that?"

"He wanted me to kill him."

"A bastard son of a traitor. What would you expect?" hissed Slynt.

Jon explained what the Halfhand believed, only to be interrupted again, testing Jon's patience, which was beginning to run thin. Jon knew that these men would not believe him, nor they wouldn't try too, but Jon continued to warn his brothers about the dangers that were coming. "While we sit here debating which rules I broke, Mance Rayder marches on the Wall with an army of a hundred thousand."

"Impossible" was his reply.

"He united the Thenns, the Hornfoots, the Ice River clans. He has giants fighting for him," Jon continued.

"Giants?"

"I killed their warg and three others, and they shot me full of arrows. Their orders are to attack Castle Black from the south when Mance hits it from the North. The signal for the attack will be a bonfire. Mance said it would be the greatest fire the North has ever seen. That's the truth; all of it. Do you intend to execute me, or am I free to go?" Jon's temper had boiled over.

"None of us are free," Maester Aemon said. "We are men of the Night's Watch, but we won't be taking your head today, Jon Snow. Go on."

__________________________________

Over several months, life at Castle Black hadn't been easy. The wildling army came but was defeated by the Night's Watch. Ygritte, the wildling woman he loved, died in his arms, but with Jon's warning, his Night's Watch brother's elected him as the 998th Lord Commander. Jon had never been one that was ambitious or sought power, but his new position gave him the ability to do what he wanted, which was to save the freefolk.

Jon knew that the wildlings wouldn't give up, especially with Mance as their King. To protect Castle Black and to protect the North, Jon knew what necessary. "Are you mad?" Sam gasped.

"I have to, Sam," Jon replied. "It's the only way this war will end!"

Sam shook his head, his eyes wide in fear at the suicide mission Jon was embarking on. Sam let his friend go, as well as Thorne and his other Night's Watch brothers, and found Mance's camp just North of the wall. The two men talked and drank, sharing in their grief of lost friends. Jon regretted leaving Longclaw with Sam. As Jon thought about taking the cooking knife and killing Mance, war horns interrupted the parley. Jon left the hut, watching in shock as hundreds of men charged the wildling camp. The men, who carried a Stag banner, slaughtered wildlings, leaving the others to scatter, abandoning Mance.

Two older men walked forward, Mance, Jon, and the other wildlings. Jon knew this was Stannis Baratheon, the last living Baratheon, the king of the Seven Kingdoms. As Stannis stopped in front of the group, Jon watched as he sized up Mance, not showing an ounce of fear or entertainment. "You're the King beyond the wall?" Stannis asked. "Do you know who I am?"

"Never had the pleasure," stated Mance, unimpressed.

"This is Stannis Baratheon, the one true king of the Seven Kingdoms," the older gentleman announced.

"We're not in the Seven Kingdoms. You're not dressed for this weather," Mance said.

"It is customary to kneel when surrendering to a king," Stannis said.

"We do not kneel."

"I'll have a thousand of your men in chains by nightfall, have nowhere to put them, have nothing to feed them. I'm not here to slaughter beat dogs. Their fate," Stannis looked around, making eye contact with Jon. "Depends on their king."

"All the same," Mance said, pride in his voice. "We do not kneel."

Stannis gave the order to his men to arrest the wildlings who did not abandon their king. Jon watched silently. "What's a man of the Night's Watch doing in a wildling camp?"

"I was sent to discuss terms with the King beyond the wall," Jon explained.

"You're speaking to the one true king, boy. You will address him as 'Your Grace'," the older man corrected Jon.

"I know he's the king," Jon snapped. "My father died for him." Both men turned to Jon in surprise. "My name is Jon Snow, Your Grace. I'm Ned Stark's son."

"Your father was an honorable man. What do you think he'd have done with him?"

"I think my father would have taken him prisoner and listened to what he had to say," Jon said.

Stannis agreed with Jon and arrested Mance. Before Stannis could say another word, Jon warned him to burn the bodies of the dead.

Stannis' arrival at Castle Black was met with an underwhelming reaction. Thorne greeted the king and opened Castle Black to him and his men. Thorne was happy to see Mance and the wildlings as prisoners, his hatred for the wildlings was no secret, much to Jon's disapproval.

Jon disappeared in his chamber, wanting a moment to himself, and luckily he was. Thorne didn't bother Jon till the next day, where he expressed his delight that the wildlings were held, prisoner. Jon bit his tongue, luckily Stannis started talking about his intentions for his travel in the North. "I need men," Stannis said.

"Men?" Jon asked, confused. "For what reason, Your Grace?"

"Daenerys Targaryen has reclaimed Dragonstone," Davos explained. "She attends to reclaim the Seven Kingdoms." Jon heard movement from the corner and saw Maester Aemon leaning forward. Jon knew that Aemon was a Targaryen, but others did not, or choose to be ignorant of the fact. "She has an army of over twenty thousand men and three dragons."

"Dragons?" Aemon gasped. "But dragons have been dead for centuries."

"We need the men to defeat Daenerys," Stannis stated. 

"Daenerys Targaryen isn't your biggest enemy," Jon sighed. "There is an enemy beyond the wall that has a larger army than Daenerys Targaryen, Your Grace. The Night King comes for us all and we need all the men here to defeat him."

Stannis stepped forward. "When will this Night King come?"

"I'm not sure, Your Grace." 

"It can't be anytime soon," Stannis replied. "I imagine if they wanted to kill you all, then they would've already attacked. If you spare me the men to fight the Dragon Queen, I will reward the Night's Watch with a larger army to help you defeat the Night King."

Jon felt hope flicker within him, but it quickly squashed away. "And what happens if you lose, Your Grace?" Jon asked.

"I won't if I have enough men," Stannis stated.

"If Daenerys Targaryen is anything like her father," Alliser said, standing up from his chair and coming to stand before the king. "She will be ruthless and unforgiving."

"If she's anything like her brother," Stannis added. "Then she will be killed by the hands of a Baratheon. I know these men have sworn an oath, but they don't have to die a heroless death. I'm giving them a chance to protect the realms of men."

Alliser shot Jon a look, which gave away everything he thought. Alliser fought on the losing side between the Targaryens and Baratheons, but the flicker in his eye told Jon that he would fight alongside Stannis, to prove himself. "I'll let you talk to my brothers," Jon sighed, feeling defeated. "As you said, they are helping protect the realms of men."

Jon called a meeting that night and sulked in the corner as he listened to Stannis talk. Jon wasn't happy about this. As more men came forward, glowing at the thought of leaving the wall, Jon saw more and more men abandon the great war that was to come. "Lord Commander Snow," Stannis called Jon's name. All the men shuffled out in high spirits, leaving just Jon alone with Stannis and his counsel. "I still need more men to fight."

"More than half of my men agreed to join your cause!" Jon snapped. "I don't have any more men to offer."

"What about the wildlings?"

"With all due respect, Your Grace, the wildlings, will not fight for a man who is keeping them and their king prisoner. I cannot speak for the freefolk, but if you want them to fight beside you, then you need to speak with their king."

Jon was left feeling exhausted. When he entered his chamber, he dragged his feet over to the bed and plopped down, not bothering taking off his coat or shoes. As Jon buried his face deeper into his pillows, he closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep. It was the first night he dreamt of a beautiful girl with hair crafted from silver. She was too far to reach, but close enough that her outline would be etched into his memory forever.

____________________

"Lord Commander," Jon turned around from the table and saw Melisandre, the Red Priestess standing behind him. She was a beautiful woman, but to be honest; she intimidated Jon. "The king would like to see you."

Jon sighed before taking a final bite of his breakfast and following Melisandre. As they rode the conveyor, he felt her eyes bore into his profile. "You're not cold, Milady?" Jon asked, making small talk. She wore a tight red dress, showcasing her fit figure.

"Never," Melisandre replied. "The Lord's fire is within me, Jon Snow." She grabbed his hand and brought it to her face. Her skin was warm, almost as if she was running a fever. Jon felt uncomfortable and quickly pulled his hand from her grasp. "Are you a virgin?"

Melisandre's bluntness reminded him of Ygritte, his dead lover. Jon didn't know whether he should answer truthfully, but he felt as if he lied, she would be able to see through his bullshit. "No," he replied.

"Good." They did not speak for the remainder of their journey, which Jon was thankful. As she led him to Stannis, he kneeled before the king.

"You were seen taking the body of a wildling girl north of the wall," Davos stated. "Why?"

Jon deeply inhaled, surprised that anyone saw him. He had been careful or so he thought. "It's where she belonged."

"Some of the Night's Watch feel you have too much affection for the wildlings."

"They were born on the wrong side of the wall," Jon explained. "Doesn't make them monsters."

"No," Stannis replied. "But it does make them proud. I'm at war, and I need men. I'll give them land to live on; it's a fair offer. I'll offer them their lives and their freedom; if Mance kneels before me and swears his loyalty."

"I don't think that's likely, Your Grace," Jon stated truthfully.

"You admire him, don't you?" Stannis asked.

"I respect him."

"He likes you. Convince him to bend the knee, or he burns." Jon's eyes widened at Stannis' demand. 

"How much time do I have?" Jon asked, shouting as the wind picked up around him.

"The sun drops fast this time of year. Hurry, Jon Snow!"

Jon immediately went to Mance and spent most of his night trying to convenience the king beyond the wall to save his life, but the man was proud, and a wildling through and through. Feeling defeated, Jon reported his failure back to Stannis. Jon watched at the Melisandre prepared the pyre, and when Mance was placed and tied to it, Jon couldn't bear to watch a man being burned alive and gave Mance a quick death with an arrow through the heart.

Stannis continued his mission to gain a more massive army to defeat Daenerys Targaryen without success. The wildlings resented Stannis for killing their king. A raven was sent to Castle Black with news that House Stark had reclaimed Winterfell. Stannis departed for Winterfell to ask Robb Stark and the Northern houses for their support. 

Jon's life returned to his definition of normal when Stannis left. He had Tormund Giantsbane; a red-headed wildling brought to his chamber. There, they talked about how Jon would offer them a place where they could be safe, for they were not enemies, and no one could stop him since he was lord commander. "I need you to go to wherever the remaining freefolk are and bring them here. I'll open up the gates and let them through. I will find them lands for them to settle south of the wall."

Tormund explained that he would die by the hands of his people if he asked them to fight for the crows. "How many of that are unable to fight and defend themselves die because you are too proud to make peace?" Jon snapped. "I'm not asking you to make peace to save your skin, but to make peace to save your people."

Tormund reluctantly agreed on one condition, that Jon joins him. Nervous, Jon decided, a mission that would most likely get him killed. As he prepared for Hardhome, Jon gathered just a few of his brothers to join him. "Is it true then?" Sam asked. "You're going to Hardhome?"

"Yes," Jon replied, finding Sam in the library with Maester Aemon. "I'm leaving within the hour. Will you join me?"

"Me? Why?" Sam gasped, clearly shocked.

"You've killed a wight walker, and I need you there to explain how you've done it."

Sam smiled, but it quickly vanished. "I can't," he said.

"Why?" Jon frowned.

"Because I asked Sam to accompany me to Dragonstone," Maester Aemon said, surprising Jon.

"You're leaving?"

"A Targaryen alone in this world is a terrible thing," Maester Aemon spoke, his voice weak and shaky due to his age. "I have sat on this wall as I heard about my family and their deaths. I did nothing, and I will have to live with my choice for the rest of my life, which I believe is coming to its end. My great-niece is at Dragonstone, our ancestral home that is full of ghosts. I need to be there with her before I die, Jon Snow."

Jon didn't know what to say, but he wouldn't dare stop Maester Aemon or Sam, who needed to protect Gilly and her baby. "Do what you must," Jon said. "But write when you arrive."

____________________

Jon returned to Castle Black like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. Jon had managed to rescue over five thousand wildlings, the others slaughtered by the army of the dead before being resurrected. He watched the faces of his brothers, as the wildlings came into Castle Black. Jon knew they would not forgive him, but when the long night comes, his brothers would be glad to know they had five thousand warm bodies fighting for them.

As the days turned to nights, Davos arrived back at Castle Black. Again with direct orders from Stannis, Davos pleaded with the remaining men at Castle Black and the surviving wildlings without much luck. Over the next couple of months, Davos and Jon formed a close friendship. Davos joined Jon as he read messages, letting Davos continue his lessons on reading. 

Davos received a raven from Stannis, updating him on their new plan. Stannis wrote that he would call upon Davos once they reach King's Landing, hoping Davos would bring more men alongside him. But, only a few weeks later, the sound of the horn pierced the sky, signaling a visitor at the gates. Jon and Davos glanced out the window to see Melisandre, entering the courtyard, looking pale and sickly. Both men ran to greet her, surprised by her visit. "What are you doing here?" Davos asked. "Why aren't you in King's Landing?"

Melisandre could only look at Davos, her eyes glazed over with sorrow. "We were attacked as we traveled through Harrenhal. Daenerys Targaryen's army, accompanied by the Golden Company ambushed us. After we lost, they took us hostage. Daenerys Targaryen's three dragons burned Stannis."

"Why did Daenerys let you go?" Jon asked.

"I told her that I serve the Lord of Light," Melisandre replied. "And that my purpose had not been fulfilled."

"What about Princess Shireen and Selyse?" Davos asked, panic rising in his voice.

Melisandre did not speak, her silence speaking for her. Jon looked at Davos, who was clutching his chest. He knew how much Princess Shireen meant to the older man. Jon reached out a hand to comfort his friend, but Davos turned and walked away.

Realizing that Melisandre had not moved, Jon turned towards her. "What is your purpose, Melisandre?"

The Red Priestess reached out a slender hand and wrapped it around Jon's wrist. "I can feel the power that runs through your blood, Jon Snow. Your blood speaks to me of flames and magic." 

Jon's wrist burned from where Melisandre grabbed him, but there was no welt. He pushed the sensation and the Red Priestess from his mind as Jon decided to read over messages to preoccupy him. As he read over several, Olly, the youngest member of the Night's Watch, rushed in. "Lord Commander," he greeted Jon in a rush. "It's one of the wildlings you brought back. He says he knows your uncle Benjen. Says he's still alive."

Jon stood, abandoning the task of reading messages. "Are you sure he's talking about Benjen?"

"Says he was first ranger!"

Jon pushed from the table and ran out of the room. Allister met him by the stairs and led him to a small opening, a group of Night's Watch brothers circling. As Jon came close, he saw a little wooden sign, painted with the words, 'traitor.' Jon turned, and the first blade was pushed deep within his stomach, by Alliser himself. As Jon stared at Alliser's frown, the Lord Commander's shock outdid the pain. More and more blades pierced his skin, the men who did it, Jon wasn't surprised, but when Olly stepped in front of his kneeling body with hatred displayed across his young face, his blade lodged into the Lord Commander's heart. 

Jon fell, darkness creeping into the corners of his mind. As he took his last breath, the cold greeted Jon like an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have pushed and pulled around storylines from later seasons, like the slaughter at Hardhome and Jon's death, to fight the plot of this story. This chapter was obviously a filler to catch up with the Lord Commander himself. The next chapter will also be a filler for Daenerys Targaryen, as we see why she decided not to rule in Meereen, but claim King's Landing in the name of her family.
> 
> BLM. End of.


	5. H O U S E   T A R G A R Y E N

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What has Daenerys Targaryen been up to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you've read the previous chapter, I changed the battle between Stannis and Daenerys. It's near the end when Melisandre turns up to Castle Black for the last time.

Daenerys Targaryen had secured her army of eleven thousand Unsullied from Astapor. With a new handmaiden, Missandei, a now freed slave, and a new member of her Queenguard, Ser Barristan, Daenerys conquered Yunkai and Meereen, freeing slaves and becoming a ‘Mhysa.’

The lonely Dragon Queen had conquered three cities at the age of seventeen with the help of her armies. The defenseless depended on Daenerys not to fail them, but when she looked upon the faces of each freed slave, anxiety overwhelmed her completely.

“Your Grace,” Ser Barristan addressed Daenerys. “May I ask why it’s important for you to free slaves? Has your goal of taking back the iron throne changed?”

“No, it hasn’t changed,” Daenerys replied. “Viserys was not that type of company you would want to keep, but I understand how it feels to be controlled by someone. He was cruel to me and didn’t care how much I suffered as long as it helped him achieve his goal. When I look into the slaves’ faces, and I see the sadness behind their eyes, it reminds me of the little girl who was afraid of her brother.”

“Your compassion reminds me of a lot of your brother, Rhaegar,” Ser Barristan confessed with a sympathetic smile. Daenerys could only offer a small smile in return. She looked up to Rhaegar for his bravery and compassion. Gods, she wished she had known him. From the stories she heard from Ser Barristan, Rhaegar was the complete opposite of Viserys, and Daenerys desperately wanted she had inherited the best of Rhaegar’s traits.

The cries of her dragons claimed her attention. Ser Jorah was right about her dragons, they were growing fast now, more significant than the size of grown dogs, and Daenerys was beginning to lose the influence she had over them. Her dragons always fought over food, and she had to put herself in the middle of their fights, nearly losing a finger or two.

Luckily, Daario’s failed attempts to seduce Daenerys has kept her from worrying too much about her children. Daario, a handsome sellsword’s man, and commander of the Second Son’s openly flirted with her by gifting her flowers and wine. Though sometimes she was tempted out of loneliness, she never gave in.

Daenerys was in her council room, standing on the balcony. The sun was beginning to set behind the cliffs off into the distance, and she could feel the familiar feeling of loneliness beginning to creep in. A sudden gust of warm wind wrapped around her and tickled her bareback as her council began to fill into the large, open room.

“Your Grace,” Ser Jorah was the first to greet her. His voice, warm and gentle like fresh honey. “There has been news from King’s Landing. House Lannister is dead.”

Daenerys froze. “How?”

“They were overtaken by Stannis Baratheon during the Battle of the Five Kings with the help of House Stark and House Tyrell.”

House Tyrell bent the knee to Stannis? “Jorah, didn’t you tell me that Stannis killed his brother, Renly? Wasn’t Margaery Tyrell married to Renly?” Daenerys asked.

“I did, Your Grace,” Jorah replied.

“Then why would they bend the knee to Stannis?”

“They sided with House Stark,” Jorah replied. “Robb Stark, the eldest son of Ned Stark, and the eldest daughter of Ned Stark, Sansa, are betrothed to the Tyrell siblings, Margaery and Loras.”

Daenerys paused, taking in everything. House Lannister’s death felt like a personal defeat to Daenerys. Everything that Viserys had promised her, the promises she took upon herself upon his death, she couldn’t accomplish them. “Wait,” Daenerys said, turning to face her council again. “Who’s King of the Seven Kingdoms?”

“Stannis Baratheon, Your Grace,” Ser Jorah said.

Stannis, brother of Robert Baratheon, who slew her brother on the battlefield. “How many men fight for him?”

“I’m not sure, Your Grace. I can’t imagine his army being half the size of yours. Half of his fleet were destroyed during the Battle of the Blackwater by wildfire.”

Wildfire? Daenerys knew well enough about the green liquid as her family came into possession with it. Her father, Aerys, was obsessed with it, enough to torture his enemies and threaten to destroy a whole city.

“We can send ravens to form alliances,” Ser Barristan said.

“An alliance would be useless,” Daenerys sighed. “We don’t have the ships to sail.”

“We’ve taken the Meereenese Navy, Your Grace,” Ser Barristan added.

“The Second Sons took the Meereenese Navy,” Daario corrected the old knight, picking up a grape and throwing it into his mouth.

Despite the excitement she felt, irritation flooded her. She did not order that. “Who told you to take their navy?” Daenerys asked, turning to face Daario.

“No one,” Daario smiled cockily, taking a seat.

“Then why did you do it?” She deeply inhaled, trying to reign in her temper.

“I heard you like ships,” he flirted. Daenerys felt a small smile tug at the corner of her lips, her irritation vanishing immediately.

“How many ships?” she asked, trying to mask her curiosity.

“Ninety-three, Your Grace,” Ser Barristan answered.

“How many men can they carry?”

“Nine thousand and three hundred.”

“Would that be enough to take King’s Landing?” Daenerys turned, asking Jorah.

“I suppose,” Jorah responded. “I’m not sure how many men Stannis Baratheon commands after the Battle of the Blackwater. If he has the North’s support, it’s hard to say.”

“What about House Tyrell?”

“House Tyrell stayed loyal to your father,” Ser Barristan said. “During Robert’s Rebellion. I don’t see why they wouldn’t want to form an old alliance. They’ll flock to us.”

“They’ll flock to whoever they think will win,” Jorah argued. “They always have.”

“Is Highgarden the only house that supported my family?” Daenerys asked.

“No,” Ser Barristan responded. “There’s House Martell of Dorne and House Tarly.”

“Does House Martell hold no ill will against House Targaryen?”

“There were rumors that Oberyn Martell supported Viserys in overtaking Robert Baratheon. If the rumors are true,” Jorah leaned closer to Daenerys. “They will support you.”

“Randyll Tarly fought at the Battle of Ashford for House Targaryen,” Ser Barristan added.

Daenerys felt hopeful, but Jorah didn’t seem pleased. By the look on his face, she knew he was hiding something from her. “What is it?” Daenerys sighed, wishing she was with her children or tucked away in a large bed.

“In Yunkai, the Wise Masters re-established slavery and took control of the city. In Astapor, the council you left behind to rule has been overthrown by a butcher named Cleon.”

Daenerys turned from her counsel and stood on the open balcony that overlooked the city. She closed her eyes as she felt embarrassed that two cities she claimed had already fallen back into the hands of slave masters. “How am I supposed to rule the Seven Kingdoms if I can’t pacify the cities of Slaver’s Bay?” she whispered, unsure if anyone heard her.

“Young kings and queens often fail,” Ser Barristan reassured her, coming to stand beside her. “You have a lot to learn, and we’ll help you.”

“Your Grace,” Jorah was standing on her other side. Daario was nowhere to be seen, which she knew that the older men sent him away. Missandei stood in the doorway of the balcony, while Grey Worm stood close to the door, hands tucked behind his back. “In order to take back the iron throne, you will have blood on your hands,” Jorah said. “There will always be master’s trying to reclaim the cities and their slaves. This will be the biggest and longest battle throughout your reign.”

Daenerys knew Jorah was right. How would she manage to keep Slaver’s Bay safe when she took back the throne? “You’re right, Jorah,” Daenerys sighed. “If I want to take back what is mine, blood will be spilled, and it will be my fault. Until I can secure my place as the queen of the Seven Kingdoms, I will have to leave Meereen vulnerable.”

________________________________________

Daenerys left Meereen with a heavy heart, but she knew that to end slavery, she needed to take back what was hers, the iron throne. Half a year passed since Daenerys made the decision to abandon Meereen, but Jorah and Daario didn’t understand why she hadn’t just left right away, but Daenerys needed time to plan her next move. Her dragons required time to grow, and she needed a strategic plan before traveling to Westeros.

“I think we should seize Dragonstone,” Daenerys said as she leaned over the map, she had studied for the last several months. “Robert Baratheon anointed Stannis as Lord of Dragonstone, but now he sits upon my family’s throne. He has no use for my ancestral home.”

“I agree, Your Grace,” Ser Barristan said. “Once word gets out that you’re sailing to Westeros, Stannis will need all of his men in King’s Landing.”

Daenerys nodded, pleased. “Once we sail to Dragonstone, send out messengers and let them know Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen is coming to take what is hers.”

“Your Grace,” Jorah cut in, his soft firm. “We need to be careful. Your dragons are not fully grown.”

“What do you suggest, Ser Jorah?” Daenerys snapped, feeling her good mood slip.

“Depend more upon your armies,” Jorah explained. “You cannot control your dragons, and they will be left vulnerable.”

Daenerys looked out upon her dragons, who circled the towering pyramid that was her temporary home. Jorah was right, her dragons were not dependable, but her armies were. As she watched her children spot her and circle closer, an idea struck her.

“I don’t think this is a great idea, Your Grace,” Ser Barristan shouted over the flapping of her dragon’s wings.

“Why not?” Daenerys asked, walking up to stand in front of her children. They crawled closer to her, pushing one another to be the first to get their snouts scratched. “When was the last dragon rider? Centuries ago?”

“Yes, but,”

“But what?” Daenerys snapped, scratching her favorite, Drogon’s neck. “Jorah’s right. My dragons are not dependable, not without a rider.” She stepped closer to Drogon, nodding at the dragon. The black dragon lowered itself to the ground and expanded its wing, allowing Daenerys to climb upon its back clumsily. Drogon’s scales dug into her flesh beneath her white dress. It was uncomfortable, but she quickly pushed it aside and grabbed onto Drogon’s small spikes. “I have to try, Ser Barristan.”

“Fly,” Daenerys ordered. The dragon moved underneath her, its movements quick. She held onto his spikes tighter, as he ran towards her council, who ran out of the dragon’s way. Drogon lifted into the air, and Daenerys felt her stomach lodge into her throat. The Dragon Queen’s hands began to sweat, and she felt her grip loosen. “Shit,” she whispered. Drogon lifted higher into the air, flying above the sea, until he shifted his body, flying on his side when Daenerys lost her grip entirely. Her body fell from Drogon, plunging into the salty ocean.

Daenerys felt herself drift further into the cold sea. She immediately swam to the surface, a burst of laughter escaping from her lips. “Your Grace!” She heard someone call from a distance. Daenerys turned and saw her council running to shore. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Daenerys laughed. “Come and join me!” Her council turned to exchange glances, unsure what to do. Daenerys swam closer to shore, a smile still tugging at her lips. “Missandei!” she called to her handmaiden. “Join me!”

Missandei looked at Grey Worm before shrugging and joining her queen. Daenerys watched as her friend, fully clothed, entered the water and swam towards her. “The water is a little cold, Your Grace!” Missandei admitted. “But, it does feel nice to get out of the heat.”

The two girls swam and splashed one another while the rest of her council watched amused. The simple act made Daenerys feel her age, even younger and not a queen, just a regular girl who can enjoy doing simple activities. The men let Daenerys and Missandei enjoy their time until duty called again. As both girls came out of the water, their dress tightly clinging to their wet bodies, Ser Barristan and Ser Jorah gave them their cloaks to cover up.

__________________________________

Daenerys did not give up on trying to ride Drogon. She had tried a few more times, until Daario suggested a saddle for the dragon. “A saddle? He’s not a horse,” Daenerys laughed.

“No,” Daario pressed. “He’s not, but we cannot have you falling off the dragon mid-flight and killing yourself. Until you know how to ride him -- do you have any more suggestions?”

“No,” Daenerys pouted. “I don’t. If you think a saddle will help, then go have one made.” She knew Drogon would not wear a saddle, even for her, but Daario did have a point.

“Here, Your Grace,” Daario said, returning a week later with a large, leather saddle.

Daenerys admired the craftsmanship. It was beautiful work; she just hoped that Drogon would take to it. The duo made their way up the cliff where her dragons lay. Daenerys greeted them first while Daario hung back. “Well?”

“What?” Daario asked.

“This was your idea,” Daenerys replied.

“You think I want to be burned alive? That’s not how I imagined my day going, Daenerys.”

She shot him a look before taking the saddle for him. She walked up to Drogon and scratched his snout before throwing the leather across his back. The dragon let out an annoyed cry before settling again. Daenerys leaned down and buckled the saddle, securing it underneath his large rounded belly. “There,” she petted him again. “Not so bad?”

“Here!” Daario said, tossing her a pair of fingerless gloves. “This should help with your grip.”

She climbed onto his back and placed her feet into the stirrups. Gripping Drogon’s spike, she ordered the dragon to fly. The saddle made her feel more secure on her dragon, and the gloves helped her hold onto its spikes without slipping. With a large flap of its wings, the pair took off into the sky, granting a successful fly.

__________________

DRAGONSTONE

Daenerys watched from her ship as the castle’s watchtower came into view, the fog that covered the island disappearing as they grew closer. “With permission, Your Grace, we should send a few smaller boats to shore,” Jorah suggested.

Daenerys nodded, agreeing that it was a good plan. “Daario,” she called upon her paramour. “Take some of the Second Sons with you to shore. Light a fire when you’re finished.”

Daario nodded before disappearing. Jorah shot Daenerys a look which she ignored. She knew Jorah held some feelings for her, but she didn’t want to have that awkward conversation with the man who meant the most to her.

Reaching shore, Daenerys felt butterflies flutter in her stomach. She knelt and grabbed a handful of sand, rubbing it between her fingers. How many of her ancestors walked along these shores, power, and dragon’s blood running through their veins. Would they be disappointed with her? With what their house had become? Weak and almost non-existence?

Daenerys stepped closer to the dark castle, looking up, she couldn’t take her eyes from the architecture. Giant dragons sat on top of the castle, looking down upon her. Even though Robert Baratheon sought to destroy House Targaryen, Dragonstone was a reminder that House Targaryen would never be forgotten. As she entered the giant dragon’s mouth, tears pricked Daenerys’ eyes. “Daenerys?” she heard Jorah call her name.

“I’m fine,” she replied, wiping at her eyes. “I just need a moment.”

She slowly explored the massive castle, never alone for her protection. Dragons were everywhere as well as gargoyles, basilisks, hellhounds, demons, and other grim figures. Daenerys knew about the history of blood magic and dark sorcery that was in her family, and Dragonstone was the prime example. “Your Grace,” Daario called from behind her.

“What?” she turned, facing Daario.

“We found a couple of survivors.”

The Dragon Queen sat upon the dragon-shaped throne of Dragonstone. The room, large and dark that reflected upon its history of the volcanic island. She waited for Daario to bring in the survivors who had to be of some importance since he did not kill them. Ser Jorah and Ser Barristan stood beside her, while Missandei stood in front and off to the side, Grey Worm standing next to her.

The large stone door clicked, and Daario came in with several men. She waited until they stood in front of her, their hands tied. “What are your names?” she asked the men. She listened as they introduced themselves: a blacksmith, a trader, a captain, and a maester.

“A maester?” Daenerys asked. “You serve Stannis Baratheon?”

“Served, Your Grace,” he replied. “King Stannis Baratheon is controlled by a witch who killed the maester I was to replace.”

“Why did the witch kill him?”

“He tried to poison her for controlling King Stannis.”

“And do you wish to return to King Stannis?”

“No,” they all replied either verbally or with a shake of their head. “You need a maester on Dragonstone, Your Grace, and if you allow, I will serve and treat you.”

“And do you all agree? Do you bend the knee and serve me?” They all nodded in agreement.

_______________________________

Daenerys explored more of her ancestral castle, spending time in the dark library, looking over the painted table that formed a detailed map of Westeros. But she spent most of her time in Aegon’s garden, the garden bursting with life despite the volcanic environment.

She sat in the middle of the garden, picking at the wild roses and cranberries, enjoying the calming scent of pine. Daenerys felt the spirits of her ancestors surround her, her blood bubbling within her veins as if they were calling her. Her mother, Rhaella, visited her often in her dreams. “Do not worry, my sweet girl,” her mother spoke softly, stroking Daenerys’ long hair. “You are never alone.”

“I am,” Daenerys cried. “I am the last Targaryen. I am the last dragon. When I die, our family dies with me.”

“No,” Rhaella spoke. “You are not. Family is a lot closer than you think.”

Daenerys woke to the sound of knocking at her door. She rolled over and saw Missandei poke her head around the door. “Your Grace,” she greeted her queen. “There’s a ship that’s just docked on the port wishing to speak with you.”

Daenerys was shocked that one of her allies had already reached Dragonstone, but she was excited nonetheless. As she sat on her throne, she noticed that Ser Barristan was missing. The familiar click of the door filled the room, and Ser Barristan strolled in with an older gentleman on his arm. Daenerys narrowed her eyes and noticed that the man was blind and frail-looking. On the other side of the older man’s arm was a chubby, younger boy, maybe around Daenerys’s age. “Your Grace,” Ser Barristan spoke. “This is Maester Aemon. Maester Aemon this is,”

“I know who sits on that throne,” the old man pointed to Daenerys. “That is my great-niece, Queen Daenerys Stormborn.” Daenerys eyes widened at his words. She looked at Jorah for confirmation. “My father was Maekar Targaryen.”

Daenerys stood and slowly walked towards the older man. She stared at his features, his eyes clouded and milk-white, the little hair he had, white, but Daenerys could see the Targaryen traits through his beautiful lines and wrinkles. Daenerys reached for the man’s hands; she could feel the heat of his blood coming to life. “Your brother Rhaegar corresponded with me up until his death.”

Daenerys felt her eyes prick with tears, and she allowed them to spill down her cheeks. She looked at Ser Barristan, confirming, “I’ve been alone for so long,” she cried. “After Viserys death, I thought I was the last Targaryen.”

“There, there,” the old man patted her hand. “You are not alone anymore.”

Daenerys had many questions for Aemon, and luckily he had the patience of a saint. He listened to her questions and answered them honestly. Daenerys learned more about her house, including her mother and father, which Rhaegar wrote to him. Her mother struggled with carrying a child, and her father’s cruelness caused a shiver to run down her spine. Daenerys heard stories of how cruel her father was, and it reminded her of Viserys. How could someone grow to be so evil?

__________________________

THE GOLDEN COMPANY

Daenerys sat in her council room, listening and watching everyone strategize. “If you don’t plan on using your dragons to defeat Stannis, we should send a raven to the houses who supported your father,” Ser Barristan said. “I think we should send a raven to Highgarden. House Tyrell is a powerful and rich family.”

“Yet their loyalties switched so quickly when my father died,” Daenerys replied.

“Most houses did,” Ser Jorah said. “It was either death or swore loyalty to the new king. Houses have done this for centuries.”

“Yes,” Daenerys sat back in her chair. Before she agreed to the plan, a muffled horn filled the grim castle. Daenerys stood in the opening of the large directional windows. From the opportunity, she looked out into the horizon, and over a thousand ships were heading towards Dragonstone.

Panic filled her as she thought Stannis had gathered a large enough army to defeat her. As the ships drew close, Daenerys ordered Grey Worm to prepare the Unsullied for a fight. She remained in the castle, surrounded by her Kingsguard, but as the ships drew near, Ser Barristan pointed out the banner that hung from each boat. “Those are silver-gold banners,” he stated. “That’s the Golden Company!”

“Do you think Stannis bought them?” Daenerys asked.

“No,” Ser Barristan stated, a blank look that crossed his face as if he recognized someone.

Ser Barristan left Daenerys with Jorah as he went ashore. There, Daenerys watched Ser Barristan greet a group of men she could not recognize so far up. Who were these people, and why was the Golden Company among them?

Daenerys stood at the head of the painted table as Ser Barristan entered. “Your Grace,” he greeted, but Daenerys’ attention turned to the three men who entered the room. Instantly, she recognized Illyrio Mopatis, the magister who took in Viserys and her in Pentos.

“Queen Daenerys Stormborn,” Illyrio greeted. Anger and confusion filled her as she looked at the older man. This man was the one who sold her to Khal Drogo, yet, he treated her kindly during her stay.

“Magister Illyrio,” Daenerys greeted him cooly.

“I can see my visit is a surprise and maybe not a welcome one,” he picked up on her mood. “We heard from a messenger that a Targaryen queen had seized Meereen with three dragons and an army of Unsullied.”

“And how did you know I would be at Dragonstone?” Daenerys asked.

“Dragonstone used to belong to House Targaryen.”

“Still,” Daenerys said. “That doesn’t explain why you’re here and why you brought the Golden Company.”

“I bought them for you.”

Daenerys felt her eyes widen with shock. “Why?”

“I believed in your brother’s cause,” he explained. “I protected you both from the Usurper’s knives.”

“And what did my brother promise you in return?”

“Your Grace, I,” Daenerys cut him off.

“I am not the naive girl you once knew, Magister Illyrio. I am a queen,” she stated confidently, walking towards the man. “You inflamed Viserys ambitions about how the people of Westeros await the return of the rightful king. That men drink toasts to his health and that women sew dragon banners in secret. Any fool would know that he promised you something in return. What was it?”

“Great riches, Your Grace,” Illyrio responded. “He promised me riches and a castle.”

“And you think I’ll make good with my brother’s promises?”

“I’m not sure what to think,” he replied honestly.

Movement caught her attention behind Illyrio. There stood a bald, chubby man dressed in expensive silk. “And you are?” Daenerys asked the man.

“Lord Varys, Your Grace,” the man replied.

“He served your father,” Ser Barristan replied. “And King Robert Baratheon.”

“Robert was an improvement on your father, to be sure. There have been few rulers in history as cruel as the Mad King. Robert was neither mad nor cruel. He simply had no interest in being king.”

“If you don’t count sending assassins to murder a baby girl in her crib cruel,” Daenerys shot him a hard look.

“Was he the one who hired the assassins?” Lord Varys lowered his head. “Who hired the assassins?” She stepped closer to the older man. “Who sent word to Essos to murder Daenerys Targaryen?”

“Your Grace, I did what had to be done to --”

“Keep yourself alive,” she finished for him. “And now you’re here with what? An intention to serve on my council? If my brother had three dragons, he would have fed you to one for your betrayal.”

“I’ve known Lord Varys for a long time, Your Grace,” Illyrio defended his fine. “He’s a loyal man.”

“How? If he dislikes one monarch, he conspires to crown the next one. What kind of a servant is that?”

“The kind the realm needs. Incompetence should not be rewarded with blind loyalty. I wasn’t born into a great house and I came from nothing. I was sold as a slave and carved up as an offering. When I was a child, I lived in alleys, gutters, abandoned houses. Do you wish to know where my true loyalties lie? Not with any king or queen, but with the people. The people who suffer under despots and prosper under the just rule. If you let me live, I will serve you well. I will dedicate myself to seeing you on the Iron Throne because I choose you. Because I know people have no better chance than you.”

Daenerys took in everything Varys said. How could she trust him? She didn’t. “I have no plans on killing you, yet, Lord Varys,” she replied. “I have a war to win. Then I’ll decide what to do with you.”

____________________________________

KING’S LANDING

The war against Stannis came and went quickly. Daenerys’s armies claimed a bloody victory, her dragons were safe, and King’s Landing belonged to her house once again. Missandei, Maester Aemon, and Samwell Tarly arrived at the Red Keep, but despite the victory, Daenerys had unfinished business.

She had been walking into the garden, arm linked with her great-uncle’s when Lord Varys had approached them. “Your Grace,” he greeted his queen. “Maester Aemon.”

“Lord Varys,” Daenerys replied. She had not decided on his role upon her council, but he held a vast knowledge that deemed useful to the Dragon Queen. “What can I do for you?” She had walked Aemon to a nearby stone bench so he could rest.

“There is news I need to share with you,” he replied.

“Well?” Daenerys sat up, a chill running down her spine at the seriousness tone in his voice.

“I’m afraid I have not been honest with you, Your Grace, and if I am to serve on your council, I need to confess.” She paused, her silence encouraging him to continue. “You asked me who hired the assassins to murder you. I also hired Ser Jorah to spy on you to inform Robert Baratheon.”

Daenerys stepped back, the back of her knees knocking against the stone bench, forcing her to sit. She felt as if she was going to be sick. “He informed us of your betrothal to Khal Drogo.” She grabbed at her flat stomach. “And when you carried his child within you.”

Anger bubbled inside her, and tears pricked her eyes. Maester Aemon grabbed onto her shaking hands to offer her silent reassurance. She didn’t want to believe Lord Varys, but he was the one to hire the assassins to murder her. Why would he be lying to her? “How long?”

“They stopped after the death of Viserys,” Lord Varys replied.

“Why? What was he promised in return?”

“A pardon,” the spider replied. “He wanted to return to Westeros.”

Daenerys stood, unable to control her devastation. “Bring Ser Jorah to the throne room.”

______________________

Daenerys sat on the iron throne, the throne made from the sword of Aegon’s enemies. Her hair curled around her breast, her head heavy as she wore her silver, dragon-shaped crown. From the light that danced around the room, the blood-red jewel caught its reflection, making the place turn into a crimson red.

The door to the throne room opened, and Ser Jorah walked in, escorted by Grey Worm and Medro, another Unsullied captain. As her trusted advisor stood in front of her, the Dragon Queen couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye.

“I didn’t want to believe it was true,” Daenerys began. “But it all makes sense.”

“If we could speak alone,” Ser Jorah pleaded.

“No, speak to me here. Explain it to me.” But the exiled knight remained silent. “So long as you have a tongue to speak, use it, or I will cut it out.”

“I sent letters to Varys, the spymaster of King’s Landing.”

“What was the content of these letters?”

“Information about you. When you and Viserys arrived in Pentos. His plan to marry you to Khal Drogo. When you were married. When your brother died.”

Daenerys took a deep breath, forcing out her next question. “You told him I was carrying Drogo’s child?”

“I,” Jorah stuttered.

“Yes or no? Did you tell him I was carrying Drogo’s child?”

“Khaleesi,” but she cut him off.

“Don’t call me that. Answer me!” Daenerys shouted.

“Yes,” he dropped his head in shame.

“That wine merchant tried to poison me because of your information.”

Jorah stepped closer but stopped. “I stopped you from drinking his wine.”

“Because you knew it was poisoned! You betrayed me from the first. You sold my secrets to the man who killed my father and stole my brother’s throne.”

“I have protected you. Fought for you. Killed for you!” There was no apology in his voice, only truth, and pride.

“And you want me to forgive you?” she asked in disgust.

“I have loved you,” he admitted, the pain slicing through her heart.

“Love? Love? How can you say that to me? Any other man and I would have executed you. But I do not want you in my city, dead or alive.”

“Daenerys,” he stepped closer, reaching out for her touch. Daenerys visibly shrunk back into the throne, as if he was diseased.

“Don’t ever presume to touch me again or speak my name,” she spat. “You wanted your pardon, and I cannot give it to you. Your skills as a warrior are useless to me, but you can live the rest of your days far away from King’s Landing, taking the black.”


	6. H O U S E     S T A R K

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb watches Stannis's coronation and the death of House Lannister, before returning North to defeat House Frey and House Bolton. But, he looked forward to the time he spent with Lady Margaery of House Tyrell and their upcoming marriage. But, when things don't always go so well for Lord Robb. He receives a raven from Castle Black, notifying him of his bastard half-brother's death. But, when he receives a raven from Daenerys Targaryen, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms ... Lord Howland Reed gives him a going-away present.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been almost a month since I posted a chapter on this story. Forgive me? 
> 
> So, our governor has changed state rules around regarding essential workers (which I'm considered one). He's made a plan called healthy-at-work, meaning I no longer work the graveyard shift. Now, I'm working early mornings (I AM NOT nor WILL EVER BE a morning person), so this is a big change -- and one my body isn't like too well. Work has always picked back up, meaning I can hardly find the time to write on these lovely stories, which during graveyard shift, I would spend most of my 10 1/2 hours either writing or editing. 
> 
> Now, I only have time to write after which, and to be honest, I'm fucking exhausted ... so I've dedicated my weekends into writing.
> 
> I hope this chapter makes up for me being MIA --- on google docs it says it's 15 pages. :) so take that with a grain of salt.

Robb stood in the throne room among the rest of the Southern houses as Stannis was crowned King of the Seven Kingdoms. His trip to the North was delayed due to Stannis coronation, which annoyed him, but what made Robb regret bending the knee to King Stannis was the fact he broke his promise. "As my first duty, I will behead every Lannister that I hold a prisoner in the black cells."

Robb sat straighter, setting down his glass of ale. He could feel his mother tense beside him. "But My King," Catelyn interrupted him. "I thought it was in agreeance that my son would be the one to behead the Lannisters?"

"You have every reason to want to see House Lannister killed, but so do I," Stannis replied. "Lord Ned Stark will get the justice he deserves, but so will I and my brother."

The Starks retreated to their rooms, as Robb watched his mother pace around the lavish royal red room. "What kind of King breaks his promise?" she hissed. "House Lannister killed your father! Beheaded him and made your sisters watch! Ned is the reason why Stannis knows he's the true heir to the throne! You should be the one to swing the sword! To end their house!"

"It won't bring him back," Robb replied grimly. "Just another house on the verge of extinction."

"Not ours," Catelyn reassured Robb. "House Stark will remain strong in honor of your father."

"Carried by me." Robb stood, feeling his chest tighten with anxiety. All the pressure his mother has put on him since the arrest of his father since his death. Catelyn depended on Robb more and more, and he took it because it was his duty. After all, he wanted to make his father proud.

"You're doing a fine job, Robb." Catelyn put her hand on his shoulder, turning him to face her. Robb looked at his mother, her face aged drastically in the last year due to grief and stress. "But I still need you. The North still needs you. The war is far from over."

"Do you think I don't know that?" he shouted. "How could I with you reminding me every day!"

"Robb!" A knock at the door interrupted their heated moment.

"Come in!" Robb called, not wanting to speak to his mother anymore.

The door opened, and Margaery Tyrell strolled in, confidently. "Excuse me, my lord," she greeted. "Lady Catelyn."

"Lady Margaery," Robb greeted. "How can I help you?"

"I was wondering if we could have a moment alone?" Catelyn looked at Robb before leaving the room, dragging Arya and Sansa away with her.

It was the first time they'd spent time together alone. The couple had brief encounters in throne rooms or council meetings, but in such an intimate setting was different. "Sorry about King Stannis," she apologized. "I should have warned you about his character."

"He is King. There's little I can do."

"But, you should be the one to swing the sword for your father."

"So should you," Robb stated, surprising her. "Stannis did kill your husband." Robb stared at Margaery, the light from the open windows letting in the last of the golden light. "I know you wished to be Queen. Are you happy settling for just Lady of Winterfell?"

"It was never my dream," Margaery replied, surprising him. "But as the only girl and a beautiful one at that, I did as my father told."

"And he wanted you to be Queen?"

"He wanted me to be the Queen," Margaery specified.

"And were you happy being Queen to Renly Baratheon?" Robb wondered if Margaery might have loved the Stag King.

"Did I love him, you mean?" She asked bluntly, reading right through him. "No, though I was very fond of him. We had a great friendship, but he loved the company of my brother, Loras." It took Robb a moment to realize what she meant. "It's more common than you think." He softly laughed, but he wasn't surprised. Houses married brothers and sisters, nieces, and uncles, nothing came as a shock to Robb.

"Have you ever been North?" Robb asked her, knowing she hadn't.

"No, but I've heard it's beautiful."

"It is, but it can also be cold, harsh, and unforgiving."

"Are you trying to sway me from our marriage, Lord Robb?" Margaery asked with a coy smile tugging at her lips.

"I wouldn't blame you if you didn't want to," he replied.

Margaery stepped closer towards him. "You speak like a man who's in love."

Robb bowed his head. "My apologies," he said. "I've not been in love, but I'm hoping that will change in the nearest future."

___________________

Robb stood amongst his mother and House Tyrell as they listened and watched each Lannister be sent to their death. First, it was Joffrey Baratheon, the one who ordered Ned Stark's execution. Cersei pleaded for her son's life, but Stannis raised his sword and decapitated Joffrey in front of his pleading mother. Next was Jaime, who did not put up a struggle. As he lowered himself to his knees, he glanced back at Cersei, before meeting his demise. Cersei, who was numb after watching her son, then her twin lover die, she had no fight left in her. She was past that point. She lowered herself to her knees, and Stannis offered her a quick death. Tywin was the only one left, and like the warrior he was; he got a warrior's death.

In poor taste, Stannis threw their heads into the crowd's who kicked them around like a ball. Margaery grabbed Robb's arm, disgusted with the whole act. "How cruel can you be to disrespect the dead like that?" she stated with disgust. "They're dead, let them rest."

Stannis has called for a celebration as his enemies were finally defeated, but Robb wasn't in the partying mood. He would be marrying a beautiful southern girl, a union with a sturdy house, and Robb felt guilty for not being in better spirits. To be honest, Robb was eager to get on with his journey, travel North and defeat his enemies that claim Winterfell as their home.

Margaery had found Robb sitting next to his younger sisters, which Sansa immediately gave up her chair for Margaery. "I've brought you some wine," Margaery said, handing Robb a cup. "Have you ever had sweet wine before?"

"No," Robb blushed. "Ale is our drink of choice in the North. I tend to carry some with me."

"Well try this, maybe this will put a smile on your face."

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I am excited about our betrothal. I just have a lot on my mind."

"I know," she gave him a reassuring smile. "You are eager to get back to war. I respect that about you."

Robb took a large drink of sweet wine and felt his jaws lock. "Wow," he gasped. "This is ... sweet." 

A frown appeared on Margaery's lips. "Do you not like it, my Lord?"

"I do," he laughed. "It's a lot different from ale." He sat his glass down before pouring Margaery some ale. "Try this."

Margaery hesitantly took the cup from his hands and brought it to her lips before taking a small drink. He watched and laughed as she made a disgusted face. "This tastes cheap!"

"Because it is," he laughed. "The North's not the richest Kingdom. It's nothing like Highgarden or King's Landing."

"I'll make sure to bring sweet wine to bring with me," Margaery stated. "I'm not sure if I'll ever grow to like ale."

Robb drank more of his sweet wine as he chatted with Margaery as the celebrations continued. Their betrothal was announced to many cheers. As the night progressed, he found it easier to talk to her than anyone before even Jon, who was his best friend and brother. Robb retired that night, too dizzy to think about anything other than the plumpness of Margaery's lips and how it would feel to kiss them.

______________________

The Starks arrived at Highgarden a week later. Sansa had left ahead with the Tyrell's to meet her soon-to-be-husband, Willas Tyrell.

"I'm not sure how I feel about this betrothal," Catelyn said. "She's just a child."

"She's not the only one to marry young," Robb replied. "She'll be safer in Highgarden than she was in King's Landing."

"Lord Willas Tyrell," Catelyn went on. "Crippled by Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne by knocking him off his horse and causing the horse to fall upon Willas."

"That's what the stories say," Robb replied.

"Can he not produce an heir?"

"He has a bad leg," Robb snapped. "I'm sure other things work to give him an heir."

The group arrived at Highgarden, and Margaery met Robb just in the courtyard. "I hope the roads treated you well."

"It has," Robb replied with a smile. "Is my sister around? I'd like to speak with her."

Margaery guided Robb to Sansa, who was sitting outside, eating lemon cakes. "Robb!" Sansa got up and hugged her brother affectionately. "I did not hear of your arrival. Is mother and Arya with you?"

"They are," he replied. "They're getting cleaned up, and then they'll come to visit." Robb sat next to Sansa, who offered him sweet wine and lemon cakes. "I want to ask you something."

"What is it?"

"Are you okay with your betrothal to Lord Willas?" Sansa gave him a confused look. "I mean, he doesn't mistreat you like Joffrey?"

"Oh, no! Willas is much nicer, and despite him being older and being crippled, I don't mind that I'll soon be his wife."

"Mother's afraid that he won't be able to produce an heir," Robb awkwardly said.

"Oh," Sansa's cheeks burned a bright red. "Well, my maidens talk about Lord Willas. They say that he's still a man despite having a dead leg."

"That's good," Robb stammered. "Don't let yourself be forced into doing something you don't want to do, even my mother. You're young, and you have a lot of time to produce an heir, and if you ever want to come, don't be afraid to send a raven. Understand?"

"Yes," Sansa nodded her head.

Sansa married Willas the next day, surrounded by most of her family and House Tyrell. It was a happy union, and Robb knew that he could leave Sansa safe at Highgarden. Celebrations went well into the early morning, and most of Highgarden was drunk, including Robb. He watched Margaery all night, staying close to her ladies, and occasionally looked over in Robb's direction.

Robb noticed Margaery slip out of the room, and he quickly followed. "Lady Margaery," Robb called after her.

Margaery turned around and saw him. As he approached, she dismissed her ladies for the night. "What can I do for you, Lord Robb?" she asked, her voice soft and polite.

"Let me walk you to your chamber," he offered his arm. Margaery looped her slender arm under his and walked beside him. "This is quite scandalous."

"If you say," Robb smiled.

"I wish my father were here to see his oldest son wed," Margaery confessed. "I'm sure Lady Sansa wished the same."

Robb sympathetically smiled. "Did your parents have a happy union?

"I think they were happy enough," Margaery admitted. "But, I don't think they were in love. Were yours?"

"My mother and father had their differences at the beginning with her being betrothed to his older brother, and my bastard half-brother, Jon, living at Winterfell. But, they grew to love each other very much," Robb replied. "Their marriage was strong, and I wish our marriage to be like that." They stopped as they reached her chamber. "The only thing I ask is for us not to keep secrets from one another."

"Secrets?" Margaery asked. "I don't understand."

"My father kept Jon's mother's identity a secret," Robb explained. "That secret made my mother jealous and angry, and even after all these years, she never accepted Jon. I mean no matter how big the secret is, or if you think that I won't like it, I want you to tell it me anyway. I don't want a secret coming between us, as it did my parents."

"And does it apply to you, Lord Robb?" Margaery asked, her face close enough where he could smell the sweetness on it.

"Of course," he replied. "We are the future of our Houses." Robb brought Margaery's hands to his lips, wishing her goodnight.

_________________

"So, it is true," Margaery said, stepping into his chambers. "You are leaving."

"The Lannisters are dead," Robb replied, sticking his sword on his side. "Stannis is King of the Seven Kingdoms, my sister is now Lady of Highgarden, but the North is still at war."

"Unfortunately, war never seems to end," Margaery said. She held something in her hands that gathered his interest. She unfolded the silk wrap and presented him with a golden rose with thorns wrapped around the steam. "I want you to know that I'll be waiting for you."

Robb felt touched by her gesture. Bending down, he pressed his lips against hers, which she returned. Her lips were soft, and Robb could taste the sweet wine on them. He felt dizzy with lust as he pulled back from her. "I wish you good fortune in the wars to come," she whispered a goodbye.

____________________________________

Robb arrived in the Northern camp with his bannerman eagerly greeting him. "What news do we have?" Robb asked.

"We were successful in defeating Lord Frey and his men," Lord Karstark said. "We've learned that Lord Tywin Lannister gifted House Bolton some of his armies to help them seize Winterfell. Roose's army ranges in several hundred now, my Lord."

Robb nodded, happy with the defeat at the Twins, but they still had to defeat House Bolton. "Tomorrow at first light, we'll send a messenger to see if they'll surrender," he said. "If not, we'll march further North and seize Winterfell."

"It's a shame what they're doing," Lady Mormont said. "Pissing on your father's memory after everything they've done for House Bolton. Roose always thought he was the better House. He's a disgrace to the North."

"Winter will come for House Bolton," Robb growled, promising Lady Mormont.

"Is it true about the Lannisters?" asked Lady Mormont. "Are they dead?"

"Aye, I watched them beheaded."

"You're betrothed to a Southern girl?"

"Her name is Margaery Tyrell," Robb explained.

"Tyrell? The very ones who supported the Mad King?" Lord Umber asked, disgust in his voice. "Do you forget what the Mad King did to your grandfather and uncle, boy?"

"Enough!" Robb snapped, slamming his fist down on the table, silencing the room. Grey Wind, his dire wolf snarled. "You will respect her, and I will hear nothing from it!"

Robb retired to his tent with Grey Wind lying at his feet. His head pounded with the stress of their upcoming strategy, and he wished he was back with Margaery. Robb pulled out the golden rose from his pocket and ran his thumbs over it. He didn't understand how he could have become so obsessed with someone so quickly.

He had dozed off when the rustling of his tent woke him up. "Robb! Come quick!"

Robb followed his mother through their camp and disappeared into her tent. Robb looked and saw the Blackfish leaning against the thick wooden post that held the structure of the canvas. Next to him was a small, long-headed wild little boy that he instantly recognized. "Rickon!" Robb raced forward, before bending down and hugging his little brother. "By Gods, I thought Theon had burned you and Bran alive!"

"We hid in the crypts of Winterfell with Osha, Hodor, Meera, and Jojen Reed. He tried to find us, but he couldn't!" Rickon explained.

"Wait," Robb looked around the tent and noticed there was something-someone missing. "Where's Bran?"

Rickon lowered his head, and Robb went numb. "When we escaped from the crypts, we found Maester Luwin dying. He told us we needed to split up. Osha and I went towards White Harbor, and Bran, Hodor, Meera, and Jojen went further North."

Catelyn quietly sobbed, but Robb didn't know whether it was tears of joy or grief. "Bran's still out there! We need to send men! We-"

"We're at war!" Robb boomed. "I want to find Bran as much as you do, but I cannot risk losing any men."

"Robb-"

"Leave us," he ordered the Blackfish. He waited until he heard the tent rustle before he talked again. "Do you know why Bran went further North?"

"I," Rickon paused. "They talked about a three-eyed crow while we were in the crypts."

"The three-eyed crow?" Catelyn asked. "The one who could see all?"

Robb looked at his mother then back at his brother. "Bran had visions as I had. I had a dream father was coming home." Robb let the poor boy sob in his arms, the very sound breaking his heart.

"Do you know where this three-eyed crow is?" Robb asked his younger brother.

"Beyond the wall, but Bran doesn't want to be found," Rickon admitted. "He knows where you're at."

Robb and Catelyn did not speak until Rickon had fallen asleep. Arya had come in shortly after, wanting to visit with Rickon, but was sent to bed. "Bran won't survive out there," Catelyn cried, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I know," Robb sighed.

"We need men to go after them," Catelyn pressed. "They're on foot. If we send men with a few horses, they could find them!"

"At first light, we'll send men to Castle Black. If Bran wants to travel beyond the wall, he'll have to arrive at Castle Black." Robb paused a moment, looking over at his younger brother when someone he hadn't thought about in a while popped into his head. "Jon!"

"Jon?" Catelyn hissed. "What about him?"

"He's at the wall. If he's seen Bran, he would've sent him our way, or kept him there. I'll send a letter to the men. If he does have Bran, I'll tell him to keep him there, and I've after I've won against the Bolton's, I'll send for him myself."

Robb sent messengers to Winterfell, only for them to have returned flayed and with a note attached to their bodies. "Winterfell is ours."

Robb and his bannermen marched towards Winterfell when a message came for Greatjon Umber. "My Lord," one of his men said. "Your son has joined allies with House Bolton."

In the open field just miles before Winterfell, Robb and his bannermen defeated the Boltons and seized Winterfell in the Stark name.

_____________________________________

Robb sent for Margaery and her family, who would be arriving by dusk. Tomorrow, they will wed beneath the weirwood tree, but before then, she would be meeting his bannermen. He awaited her arrival in the courtyard, pacing impatiently. "I've never seen you like this," Arya teased her brother.

"Like what?" Robb snapped.

"Like a boy who's in love," Arya sang. "It's funny."

Margaery arrived with a lavish carriage, and when she stepped from it, she was wrapped in the fanciest fox fur. "My Lady," Robb greeted his soon-to-be-wife.

"My Lord," Margaery smiled, a wicked gleam in her eye.

House Tyrell joined House Stark at the high table. The North was glancing at Margaery, and Robb noticed that her beauty had gone unnoticed. Lady Olenna held a conversation with Catelyn Stark, though it wasn't a warm one. Lady Olenna has a sharp, cold tongue, but so did his mother. Margaery sat talking with Arya and Rickon, both hanging on her every word. Robb leaned over and placed his hand on her knee, and almost naturally, Margaery placed her hand on top of his squeezing his hand gently.

They married the next day, surrounded by family and Northerners. It was a happy union; Robb's stomach was full of nerves. Their consummation was even better, full of passion, and rare nerves. They fit together perfectly, something he didn't realize was possible; and quickly they fell in love.

____________________________________

Several months passed, and he received a visit from King Stannis Baratheon. "What can I do for you, Your Grace?" Robb asked the King, his voice flat. "I was not aware that you were in the North."

"I stopped by Castle Black," Stannis explained. "I met with your bastard-half brother, Jon Snow. He's Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

"Can I ask why?"

"Daenerys Targaryen, the Mad King's daughter, has seized Dragonstone. She's come to claim King's Landing. She brings the Dothraki and Unsullied with her, and if the rumors are true, three dragons. I am outmanned, and I need your men to help me defeat the Dragon Queen."

Robb felt Margaery tense beside him. He knew she disliked Stannis after killing her first husband. "I'm afraid I can't be much help," Robb replied. "The North is still recovering against our battle against the Boltons." And the North hasn't forgiven you for breaking your promise.

"Surely, you have enough men to spare," Davos pressed.

"My men are still recovering," Robb argued. "If I provide you, half-useless men, it reflects poorly on the North."

"Half-useless or not, we need their strength," Davos argued. "What makes you think the Dragon Queen won't march North and slay your men?"

"I'm sorry, but I can't give you the men, but maybe the other Northern Houses might." Robb stood and shook Stannis's hands. "I don't speak for every Northern House." Robb looked at an angry Stannis, but he didn't push any further. Stannis might be the King of the Seven Kingdoms, but Robb Stark was the Northern King, despite the title.

Robb knew that when Stannis left Winterfell empty-handed, Robb sent him to his death. He knew that no other Northern Houses would help him, but this decision didn't sit well with his mother. "You should have sent men with him," she argued. "If he wins this war against the Mad King's daughter, he will never forget that you didn't provide him an army."

"If the stories are true about Daenerys Targaryen, then he won't win," Robb stated.

"And then you'll bend the knee to the family that killed your aunt."

"Does it matter?" Robb hissed. "I made allegiance with House Tyrell. Margaery might be my wife now, but they helped me get justice for Ned's death. Lord Mace died fighting for House Stark, and they provided their army to help us seize Winterfell. I will not go against my wife's house."

__________________________________________

Over the next half-year, Robb received word that Daenerys had defeated Stannis and was now Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, but that wasn't the troubling part. Maester Wolkan gave Robb a letter with the Night's Watch crest on it. Robb read over the words and felt his insides turn cold as ice. Margaery noticed his immediate paleness and placed her hand over his arm. "What's wrong?" she asked.

"It's Jon." He instantly gathered the attention of Catelyn and his younger siblings.

"What does the letter say, Robb?" Catelyn asked.

"It's from Ser Davos Seaworth. Jon's been murdered by his men."

"No," Arya gasped. "You're wrong."

Robb passed the letter to Arya, who read it, breaking out into a loud sob. "You have to do something! Why would they murder him?"

"For saving the Wildlings from the Others."

"Well," Catelyn sat back in her chair without an ounce of remorse on her face. "I'm sure there's another reason in there."

"Another reason?" Arya hissed. "He's our brother!"

"Stop calling him that!" Catelyn shouted at Arya. Robb watched Arya's lips quiver, but she could see the hatred brewing behind her dark eyes.

"You've never liked him! You always blamed Jon for father fucking another girl!"

"Don't speak to me that way!" Catelyn scolded.

"Admit it! You're happy he's dead! You can't even stop smiling!" Arya sobbed, her face red with anger. "I wish it was you instead of him!" Arya pushed herself from the table and ran from the room. Robb closed his eyes but opened them when he felt a squeeze of reassurance from his wife.

Robb reached for the letter again, rereading it. He would've understood if Jon was executed for treason or died fighting the wildlings, but butchered by his men for bringing the wildlings to Castle Black to protect them from the Others. They were his Lord Commander! What would their father think of the men who were supposed to defend the Realms of Men, turned on another?

___________________________

Robb received a highly anticipated raven, crested with a Targaryen sigil requesting for Robb to travel South to bend the knee. He called upon his bannerman and let them know of the news and his decision. "The Starks don't do well traveling South," one of the Lords shouted. "We just won the North back! If you travel and she burns you alive-"

"It's a chance I have to take," Robb pressed. "I received a letter from Castle Black warns that the Others are coming. I don't know much about them, except for stories told when I was a child. We always knew the danger that lay beyond the wall even if we didn't want to admit it."

He listened to them argue and shout their disapproval, but he had made up his mind. House Tyrell had already bent the knee. The raven was from Lord Varys, who he'd been in contact with. He never met the Lord, but he trusted him.

Robb left Rickon as his heir-after much argument with Arya, who refused to stay at Winterfell-with their mother guiding him, which seemed to please the Northerns a bit, especially his mother.

Robb sat in the strategy room, wanting a moment's peace. He rubbed at his head, trying to dull the thumping he felt when a knock at the door interrupted him. "What?" he called out, not trying to hide the annoyance he felt.

"My Lord," Lord Howland Reed stood in the doorway, a surprise to Robb.

"How can I help you, My Lord?" Robb asked, gesturing for him to sit.

"Your father and I made a pact years ago after the death of your aunt, Lady Lyanna," Lord Howland explained. "He told me that if he were to die, whether in battle or under the circumstances, I was supposed to give this to the heir of Winterfell." He dug into his satchel and pulled several pieces of parchment from it.

"What is it?" Robb asked.

"These are letters written by Lyanna, Rhaegar, and your father."

"Regarding?"

Lord Howland sighed, and Robb grew nervous. "Do you know the story about your aunt?"

"Only that she was kidnapped and raped by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, and that's what started Robert's Rebellion," Robb answered.

"What if I tell you that was a lie?" Lord Howland asked. "Prince Rhaegar didn't kidnap nor rape your aunt." Robb didn't understand why Lord Howland was telling him this, but he hung onto the strange Lord's words. "When I met Lyanna, she was just as fierce as the men in her family. She wasn't afraid of anything nor anyone. She even saved me once." Lord Howland laughed at the memory. "We met at the tourney of Harrenhal, and that's also when she met Prince Rhaegar,"

"She was so enthralled by him. I suspected it was because he didn't look like us Northerners, but there was something more to it. She didn't wish to be betrothed to Robert. He was very possessive of her to the point it scared her. By the end of the tourney, it was no secret that Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna fancied one another. He declared that when he crowned her the queen of love and beauty instead of his wife,"

"After the tourney was over, they continued to write to one another secretly; I was the only one she trusted with this information. She told me that she loved Prince Rhaegar and that there would come a time where they would go away together. I never took her words seriously, until-"

"She was gone," Robb finished. "She left with Rhaegar Targaryen?"

"Your father was furious, so was your grandfather and your uncles," Prince Howland explained. "Robert was beside himself. No one wanted to admit that maybe Lyanna ran away. Everyone knew of the rumors that Robert had an illegitimate daughter in the Vale. Everyone knew that she despised him, but Robert saw red in a fit of jealousy. After the war was over and the Targaryens defeated, I accompanied Ned to the tower of joy where Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent, and Ser Gerold Hightower were keeping Lyanna. We fought, and only your father and I survived,"

"Your father went up into the tower first, and he didn't come out for a long time. I eventually went looking for him, and that's where I saw Lyanna dead in Ned's arms. Gods, I will never forget the smell of the room. It smelled of blood and roses. When I pulled apart their hands, I noticed that Lyanna was covered in blood, her face still wet with sweat. I thought she might have stabbed herself, but then I heard it. The cries of an infant."

Robb's mouth went dry, and his stomach was tight with nerves. Ned never talked about his sister. Everyone accepted this as his way of grieving, but it all made sense now. "She died from childbirth?" Robb asked. He waited until Howland shook his head yes before asking his other question. "It was Prince Rhaegar's child, wasn't it? Wait! What happened to the child?"

"Your father held the child in his arms, its hair just as dark as his mothers. I asked Ned what we were going to do with the child, and he told me everything. This child's a Targaryen. That's why she ran away; he cried; to marry Rhaegar. He got an annulment from Elia Martell to marry Lyanna!" Lord Howland cried. "By then, Robert had sought to destroy every living Targaryen, and your father made a decision. He was to claim this child as his bastard to raise and to protect it from Robert."

"Wait." Robb felt dizzy, and the pounding in his head worsened. "You mean to tell me that my brother-my half-brother Jon, is Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna's son? That he was never a bastard?"

"The truth is in the letters," Lord Howland said, setting down the papers. "I know that Jon is dead, but maybe your family can heal."

Robb didn't sleep that night. He stayed camped up, reading every letter. Everything that Lord Howland had told him was there in Prince Rhaegar's, Lyanna's, and even his father's handwriting. His tears splashed against the parchment, bleeding some of the words. He grieved for his father again, his aunt, and now Jon, who would never learn the truth of his true parentage. When he could not stand it longer, he sent for his mother, who had carried this burden for the whole span of her marriage with his father. The door creaked open, and Catelyn walked into the room, her hair unbraided. "Have you not slept?" she asked Robb, noticing the dark circles under his eyes. "

"Will you sit?" he asked her, his voice soft and hoarse.

"What's the matter?"

"Lord Howland came to me last night," he explained. "To give me this." He held up the stack of papers. "He told me that he and my father made a pact years ago after the death of my aunt Lyanna. That if he were to die in battle or under any other circumstances, Lord Howland was to give the heir of Winterfell these letters." Catelyn furrowed her brow, obviously confused and curious. "These letters contain a truth that will forever change House Stark. That will forever change the way you look at Ned."

"What are you talking about, my son?"

"We know the story about Robert's Rebellion," Robb continued. "We know the story Robert told about Lyanna and how she was kidnapped and raped by Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, but these letters tell a different story. These letters tell the truth about what happened to Aunt Lyanna." Before Catelyn could say anything, Robb handed her the letter his father wrote. "Read this."

To the heir of Winterfell,

Whether you're a son of mine, or a daughter, perhaps a grandsire; the truth needs to be told. I paid the price to keep a promise I made to my dying, sweet sister, and I don't regret it. But, I am now dead, and I'm sure everyone who has fought at the Trident is too, maybe this secret can heal wounds that time couldn't.

To my dear, strong wife, Catelyn, please forgive me. Just know that I trusted you completely, but this promise I made, had to die with me. Just know that I loved you deeply, and not even death could stop me from loving you. Do not blame yourself.

There is another letter made for Jon. Let him read it only. If he has died, burn it.

I am sorry for everything that has happened. I hope these letters will make you understand everything, especially my choice. It is your decision on what you decide to do with this truth. I hope it doesn't weigh heavy on your heart as it did mine.

Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell. Warden of the North.

Robb watched as Catelyn brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. "What is he talking about, Robb? What letters?"

Robb told his mother the same story Lord Howland had told him just hours ago. Robb only finished when the sun had risen. Catelyn sat there stunned, silent, her face wet with tears. "All this time," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I looked at Jon and saw a constant reminder of your father's betrayal. I couldn't bring myself to love him. I oppressed him, and I am ashamed. I was so cruel to your father for so many years."

"You didn't know, mother," Robb tried to comfort her. "No one knew."

"It's been a lie," Catelyn said, ignoring Robb. "And I won't be able to ask Jon for forgiveness. I'm a monster."

"You felt betrayed," Robb argued.

"Go to Castle Black, Robb," Catelyn ordered frantically. "Have Jon's body brought back. Let us bury it in the crypts beside his mother."

Robb was silent, surprised even, but touched. All the anger he felt for his mother, and her cold attitude towards Jon vanished. Jon deserved a better life than the one Jon got. He joined the Night's Watch because he thought that's what he deserved. He could've had a better life than the one he had, and that ate at Robb. "I'll visit Castle Black on my way to King's Landing. I'll have his body sent to Winterfell." There, together with his mother, they could give Jon a peace he didn't get to have in life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, i know you all will have questions and I will answer them. I originally wrote Robb arriving at Castle Black and finding out that Jon is alive in this chapter, but decided I'd wanted to do it in Jon's POV because a very special someone accompanies Robb to Castle Black and I NEEDED JON'S POV FOR THAT SCENE.
> 
> love you all, and stay healthy and safe.


	7. JON I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Snow is back!

THE WALL 

Jon knew he was dead; he was aware of it. He didn’t feel hot nor cold, hungry, nor tired that he usually felt when he alive. Jon didn’t have any dreams or visions, everything was black, yet he could see around him. Was this his punishment for all the wrongdoing he did? Yet, Jon thought he should be rewarded for saving as many as people as he could. Did the bad outweigh the good? Did it even fucking matter? 

A tingling feeling started in his legs and worked through his body. He looked at down at his hands, which were shaking so violently, they were a blur. He was a blur. The tingling grew uncomfortable, and he could see the blackness start to fade away. Jon didn’t understand what was going on, but he wished it to be over soon. He just wanted a feeling of peace for the first time in life, and even in death, he was afraid he’d never get it. 

Suddenly, a light erupted through the darkness, and he found himself inside a small stable that he instantly recognized as the one from Castle Black. But? Why was he there? Jon felt his body jump at the door in front of him when he noticed white, large paws. An immediate understanding rushed through him as he understood that he had warg into Ghost’s body. There were powers in the North that most didn’t understand, like why House Stark had always had a spiritual connection to direwolves. 

Again, Jon knew that he was dead, but he didn’t know how long or what had happened to his body. Jon began to howl, trying to get someone’s attention when he saw Ser Davos. He moved slowly, then picked up his pace when more shouting filled the cold-dead air. “There! There’s something in the courtyard!” Jon howled again, pushing at the stable door. He could hear the wood splinter as he desperately tried to break himself free. 

“It’s the Lord Commander!” He heard someone shout. “He’s dead!” 

Jon howled again, before breaking out in a guttural snarl. He pushed, this time splitting the stable door into two. He jumped out, snarling and snapping at everyone until he saw his body lay on the ground with the same sign he saw before he died. Traitor. “Get him inside,” he heard Davos command. 

Edd, Jon’s best friend, helped pick up his body, his face wet and grim. Jon, in Ghost’s body, followed the group closely behind and Jon’s chamber. Davos locked the door behind them and watched as Edd examined Jon’s body. “Thorne did this,” Edd stated through gritted teeth. 

“How many of your brothers do you think you can trust?” Davos asked. 

“Trust?” Edd asked, confused but quickly understanding. “The men in this room.” 

Suddenly, a knock at the door startled them, causing everyone to draw their sword, minus Davos. “Ser Davos,” a woman’s voice called from the other side. Melisandre, the Red Priestess. 

“Let her in.” Jon watched as the door opened and the intense, beautiful woman walked in, wearing her crimson red dress. She was confused at first until she spotted Jon lifeless on the table. Her face became sad as she slowly approached him. 

“I saw him in the flames,” she whispered to herself. “Fighting at Winterfell.” 

“I cannot speak for the flames,” Ser Davos. “But, he’s gone.” 

The wolf’s whine filled the room, and Melisandre shot him an odd look. Jon felt as if she knew that he was trapped inside his own direwolf’s body. Yet, she looked away, stroked Jon’s cold face, and left without saying another word. “Strange woman,” Ser Davos mumbled. 

There was a horn that signaled a meeting about Jon’s death, which had spread like wildfire. “He’ll have seen we didn’t come,” Davos said. “Thorne will have made it official that Castle Black his is by justifying his actions.” 

“I don’t care who’s sitting on the high table,” Edd growled. “Jon was my friend, and those fuckers butchered him.” 

“I didn’t know Lord Commander Snow for long, but I have to believe he wouldn’t want his friends dying for nothing.” It wouldn’t be for nothing, Jon thought. If he were alive, he’d kill Thorne with his bare hands. Yet, he understood what Davos was saying. If Edd and the rest of the men in the room tried to attack Thorne and his men, Thorne would win, and the Freefolk butchered. Everything that Jon worked for would be for nothing.

“We need to return the favor,” Edd stated, ignoring Davos. 

“We don’t have the numbers.” 

“We have a direwolf,” Jon growled his disapproval. Go to Tormund. Ask for help. Don’t be stupid and taking them on with the lot of you! 

“That’s not enough!” Davos raised his voice. “Think about now, reasonably. You’re not the only one’s who owe your life to Jon.”

“The Freefolk!” Edd gasped. 

“I’d suggest going now while they meet. Thorne and his men will come to us after. They know we’re in here. We don’t have long!” Davos stood and nodded to another Night’s Watch brother. “Go with him to the gates, bring the dire wolf to accompany you back.” Edd left accompanied by Jon is Ghost’s body. He jogged by his best friend and slowed when they approached the gate. 

Edd turned to his man. “Keep the direwolf with you and bolt the door when you return. Don’t let anyone in unless it’s Tormund or me. Got it?” The man nodded, and Edd was off. They were halfway back when one of Thorne’s men tried to stop them. Jon saw red and charged forward, ripping out the guy’s throat as a warning to Thorne. 

_________________________________

Davos kept Jon’s chamber warm Jon’s as he repeatedly stoked the fire. The older gentleman was restless before an idea had struck him. He sat at Jon’s table and pulled out a plain piece of parchment. 

“What are you doing, Sir?” one of the men asked him. 

“I’m sending a raven to Winterfell,” Davos replied. “I’m letting Jon’s brother, Robb, know what Allister Thorne and his men did.” 

“If you’re seeking help, it won’t arrive in time, Sir!” 

“I know it won’t,” Davos snapped. “But, if Edd doesn’t succeed, at least Robb Stark will know the truth, and maybe he’ll want to seek justice himself.” Davos quickly scribbled a note, before sealing it with hot wax. He rolled up the parchment and tied it to a raven’s foot. “To Winterfell.” 

Not soon after, a bang at the door startled them. Jon knew who it was just by the noise. The men drew their sword, and Jon let out a feral growl. “Ser Davos, we have no cause to fight,” Thorne’s deep-hoarse voice filled the room. “We are both anointed knights.” 

“Hear that lad?” Davos asked sarcastically. “Nothing to fear.” 

“I will grant amnesty to all brothers who throw down their arms before nightfall, and you, Ser Davos, will allow you to travel South a free man with a fresh horse. You can bring the Red Woman if you’d like, or you can leave her here with us, whichever you choose. But, surrender by nightfall, or this ends with blood.” 

“Thank you, Ser Alliser. We’ll discuss this among ourselves and come back to you with an answer,” Ser Davos replied. After a moment’s pause, the group could hear Thorne’s footsteps disappear. “Boys, I’ve been running from men like that all my life. In my learned opinion -- we open the door-”

“They’ll slaughter us all,” one of Jon’s brothers replied. 

“They want to come in, they’re gonna come in,” another added. Both were right. Once nightfall reaches, they’ll come through that door and slaughter everyone in there. Jon just hoped Edd would return with the Freefolk before then. 

“Edd is our only chance,” a brother stated. 

“It’s fucking said if Dolorous Edd is our only chance,” another replied. 

“Well, there’s always the Red Woman,” Davos stated flatly, but Jon could hear the slight fear in the older man’s voice. 

“What’s one redhead going to do against forty armed men?” 

“You haven’t seen her do what I’ve seen her do.” 

Jon paced the room, walking up to his corpse and sniffing it. He could smell the blood strongly, a sweet metallic smell, but now he could pick up on different scents since he was Ghost. The ice and mold in the floorboards, the rust of the hinges, the natural musk from the men in the room, but worst of all, he could also smell his own body decaying as the fire melted the ice. 

Hours passed and still no sign of Edd or the Freefolk. He could see the sun quickly setting and night rapidly rising. He knew it only a matter of time before Thorne, and the men who killed him came back, ready to butcher the men in the room guarding his dead body. Jon heard the crunching of thick snow before any of the other men noticed. The wood creaked, followed by thumping, and Davos stood. Thorne was back, and they had run out of time. 

There was an awkward silence as if Thorne was rethinking his plan, but the deep hoarse voice spoke loud. “It’s time, Ser Davos,” he began. “Open the door, and the men inside can rejoin their brothers in peace.” Silence once again. “We’ll even set the wolf free north of the wall where it belongs. “ A pause. “Nobody needs to die tonight.” 

Davos turned to face the men in the room. “I’ve never been much of a fighter,” he stated. He walked up to the window and grabbed Longclaw. Jon was pained that a great sword was in the hands of a not-so-great fighter. “Apologies for what you’re about to see.” He unsheathed the sword, the loud metallic echoing in the room, and the other men did the same. 

Footsteps outside the door disappeared and reappeared, followed by a loud bang on the door. Jon watched as the door shook before it began to splinter. He immediately growled with anger, feeling feral, and protective. He wasn’t going to allow Thorne and his men butcher Davos or his loyal brothers. The group knew they were outnumbered, and maybe they planned to buy them more time for Edd and Tormund to arrive. 

They managed to split the top of the door before a distance boom sounded at the gate. Instantly, the banging stopped, and Thorne went out into the courtyard where the banging continued. Davos opened the shutters giving the men a glimpse out into the yard. The two wooden doors flung from their hinges, and Tormund, followed by the Freefolk Jon saved, ran into the courtyard yelling for justice. 

“Attack!” Thorne yelled. A crow ran toward Tormund, who quickly slashed into the man. The rest of Night’s Watch hesitated before lowering their weapons. Maybe they were afraid of the Freefolk, or perhaps they didn’t want to support Thorne anymore. Either way, Thorne branded them, cowards. 

Edd came forward, his sword sticking straight at Thorne’s chest. “You fucking traitor,” Alliser spit. 

“The only traitors here are those who shoved their knives into their Lord Commanders’ heart.” But the groups weren’t going to go down without a fight. Olly, the youngest Night’s Watch brother, ran forward, ready to kill, before being quickly overtaken. 

“Throw ‘em in the cells where they belong,” Edd ordered. 

Tormund came into the chamber. He wanted to see what the crows did to his friend. “Took a lot of knives,” he said, his voice thick. “I’ll have my men get the wood for a fire. Bodies to burn.”

________________________

Jon found himself not knowing what to do. He was hungry, tired, and restless. His body was to be burned, but would Jon stay trapped in Ghosts’ body forever? Or would his soul rest once his ashes were blown away by the winter wind? Either way, Jon felt like peace would never come to him, not even in death. 

Jon walked around the courtyard, following Davos or Edd around. It was only when Davos sent Ghost to hunt, Jon left Castle Black. He headed for the near forest, and for the first time, Jon felt like a wolf. He used his senses to avoid danger and prowl upon small prey. Hunting came easy to him, just like fighting. When Jon was full, he headed back to Castle Black and back to where his body was being kept in his chambers. 

An hour later, Davos entered the room, followed by Melisandre and Edd. He poked his head up as they surrounded his body. “Are you sure about this?” Edd asked. 

“We have to try,” Davos replied. 

They stripped Jon’s body from his clothes, and he lay bare on the table. His chest bloodied, and his wounds deep. Melisandre began to softly speak in a language that was unrecognizable as she began to wash away the blood. After every inch of Jon had been cleaned, the Red Priestess grabbed a knife and cut his hair before throwing it in the fire. It was a mesmerizing sight to watch Melisandre use her magic. This woman could do more damage than a full-sized army. 

Melisandre bowed to the fire, offering a piece of herself, a lock of red hair, before standing. No one spoke, even after she was finished. With a final touch, she left the room, accompanied by Edd. Ser Davos stayed behind, unsure what was supposed to happen. How long was this supposed to take? Jon got his answer. 

Just like before, his legs began to tingle as it worked its way through him. His vision blurred, and he let out a smile whine. It felt as if his soul had left Ghost and flew through the air and into his corpse onto the table. Suddenly, he opened his eyes and gasped for breath. He could see the wooden ceiling above him; he could feel the pain from his wounds each deep breath he took. He sat up and looked around the room, confused as to how easy it was to come to his body. 

“Jon?” He turned and saw Davos sitting as far away from him as possible. 

Jon felt a breeze wrap around his naked body. “Do you mind?” 

Davos walked forward and gave Jon his cloak. “How does it feel? You don’t seem to be too rattled.” 

The door opened, and Melisandre came in, her eyes wide with disbelief that she had done it. “Do you remember what happened?” Davos asked. 

“They put a knife in my heart,” Jon stated. “Branded me a traitor.” Jon looked up at the Red Woman, who had moved closer. “Why?” 

“The Lord let you come back for a reason,” she spoke as she knelt in front of him. “Stannis wasn’t the Prince Who was Promise, but someone has to be.” She placed her hands over his wound, and Jon could feel the fire behind them. “What did you see? After you died, what did you see?” 

“Nothing,” he said. “There was just blackness. I couldn’t feel anything, but I knew I was dead.” 

Melisandre stood as if she was disappointed by his answer. “Could you give us a moment?” Davos asked her. She left the room, and Davos pulled up a chair. 

“How am I supposed to walk out there and face everyone? How am I supposed to do my job as if I hadn’t just given my life for it?” 

“You have a choice,” Davos answered. “You’ve given your life for the Night’s Watch, but here you are with a second chance. Either you stay and protect the Realms of Men from what’s out there or walk away. I’d go somewhere warm personally where you can see the sun.” Jon chuckled, but a shiver ran through him. “This is all pretty fucking mad if you ask me.” 

“Aye,” Jon replied. “I don’t know what I expected to happen when I died. Maybe, I thought I’d feel warm before there was nothing. But something happened. I don’t know if the Red Woman had anything to do with it, or maybe it’s another fucking thing that I’d never understand, but I warged inside Ghost’s body. I could see and hear everything that happened. I know you were the one to find me, and I know that Ed brought the Freefolk to Castle Black.”

“This is beyond mad,” Davos whispered. “I thought I’d seen in it all with the Red Woman.” Davos stood and peered out the window, which Jon could see it was daylight. “They’re waiting for you.”

“I did what I thought was right,” Jon said. 

“And you continue to do it. You fight for as long as you can and clean up as much of the shit as you can.” 

“I failed.” 

“You have a whole courtyard of men that says otherwise,” Davos said. “Get dressed and show them that you’re not going anywhere.” 

___________________________________________

A week had passed since Jon’s resurrection. Everyone kept their distance from him except for Davos, Melisandre, Edd, and Tormund. Thorne, Alliser, Othell Yarwyck, and Bowen Marsh were still held in the cells, but were Jon was growing restless. They needed to be hanged for their crimes, but Jon had a different idea for Alliser. 

Edd came into Jon’s chamber. “Our brothers are growing restless,” he told Jon. “They want to see justice done for what happened to you.” 

Davos looked at Jon, who moments before had told him the same thing. “I suppose it can’t wait any longer,” Jon said. “I’d hoped they’d freeze in there, to be honest.” 

“Well, unfortunately, that plan failed,” Edd replied sarcastically. “What do you what to do?” 

Jon sighed, knowing he couldn’t avoid it any longer. “Tie up everyone for execution. Leave Thorne in the cells.” 

“What are you going to do with Thorne?” Edd asked. 

Jon stood in front of his brothers, who had betrayed him. He listened as they spoke their last words emotionally, and yet Jon felt impatient to get on with it. Even young Olly, who looked at him with such hate, Jon wanted to watch the life drain from his eyes. Jon cut the lever and stood and wait until they all took their last breath. 

He retired to his chambers, to have a moment alone. Jon felt as if he should have any remorse about their deaths, but he felt nothing. For the past week, Jon noticed that he wasn’t the same person he was before he died. He almost felt feral like his direwolf though he’d only spent two days sharing a subconscious. 

Death changes people, but it’s usually the ones who lost someone, not someone themselves dying. How many people can say they were brought back from the dead? It’s unnatural. It felt wrong; Jon felt wrong. Nothing he did, brought back his full emotions, and it was becoming noticeable. 

Jon snuck out of his chamber when the moon was highest in the sky. The courtyard was empty, except for the few that stood guard. He walked in the direction of the cells, where it grew colder. It was the closest to the wall. “You shouldn’t be alive,” Thorne’s throaty voice filled the dark silence. “It’s not right.”

“Neither was murdering me,” Jon replied flatly. 

“Why didn’t you let hang with my brothers?” 

“Because you deserve a lot worse.”

“And what would that be? You taking my head with that fancy sword of yours?” Thorne dryly laughed. “Like you did with Janos Slynt?” 

“No,” Jon said, walking closer. “Sleep well tonight. For tomorrow, you’ll see what you deserve.” 

The next morning, Jon ordered a crowd in the courtyard. Edd brought Thorne to stand in front of Jon and the rest of the Night’s Watch. Everyone watched quietly as Thorne gave Jon a nasty look, but Jon’s gaze was cold and emotionless. “Ser Alliser,” Jon began his voice stiff. “Do you have any last words?” 

“If I had the choice, I’d do it again,” Thorne stated. “What you are going to do, get on with it.” 

Jon put his hand on Longclaw’s hilt and heard people hold their breath, but he had no use for his sword. “I told you you deserve a lot worse,” Jon said. “You let your hatred for the Freefolk disallow you to see our true enemy. For that, and for murdering me, I send you beyond the wall with no weapon, no supplies, no horse, and no food.” 

Thorne’s eyes widened in disbelief, and this was the first time Jon saw fear in the older man’s face. He lunged at Jon, spitting and cursing the Lord Commander. “Just kill me, you coward!” But Jon wasn’t listening. The men who held Thorne followed Jon down to the tunnels and opened the gate. They unchained him before throwing Thorne out into the dense environment leaving him to his fate. 

Thorne tried to run towards the gate, begging to be killed instead. Jon thought it was odd to hear such a man like Thorne beg. The gate closed before Thorne reached it, and Jon turned to head back to Castle Black, a smile on his face. 

____________________________________

“What do you mean you don’t want it?” Edd asked, confused. 

“I don’t want to be it anymore,” Jon replied, giving Edd the same answer he did moments before. 

“You can’t just decide not to be Lord Commander! You swore an oath!” 

“And I fulfilled that oath when they plunged their knives in me, Edd! I gave my life to the Night’s Watch!” 

Edd went to open his mouth, but the warning horn-filled Jon’s room interrupting their heated argument. Jon went to the window and saw the gate being open. Stark men filled their courtyard, which worried him. He left his chamber and climbed down the wooden stairs, stopping when he spotted his half-brother, Robb. 

Jon watched as brother scanned the courtyard, before spotting him. Robb’s face paled as if he’d seen a ghost. “Jon?” Robb didn’t wait for Jon to reply. He charged towards his brother and pulled Jon into a hug. “By the Gods. I thought you were dead!” 

Jon had forgotten that Davos had written to Winterfell with news of his death. “It’s a long story,” Jon replied. 

“I have time,” Robb replied with a smile. 

The brothers hugged again before something small ripped them apart and clung to Jon’s waist. He could see the crown of Arya’s head leveled at his abs. Her little body shook with each sob, and Jon picked up his little sister to comfort her. “Stop with the crying,” he ordered. “I’m still breathing.”

Arya pulled back her face from his neck, which was now pink and tear-streaked. “I could kill you!” She hissed. Arya kicked her legs, and Jon put her down. She smacked his stomach before hugging him again. “I want to know the truth!” 

Jon laughed as well as Robb. There, Jon noticed a beautiful woman standing just behind Robb. She had a slender figure, with long, soft curling brown hair and wide brown eyes. Her face was pale and slim, and brown freckles peppered her nose. She looked around their age, but Jon knew she wasn’t a Northern girl. He could see that she was shivering violently. Robb noticed Jon was staring and cleared his throat. “Jon, this is my wife, Lady Margaery Tyrell.” 

Jon bowed before looking at Robb. “Pleased to meet you, Lady Margaery. Come, let’s get inside and get you a hot supper.” 

They sat in the hall, eating a hot supper consisting of mutton. “Sorry, we’re not known for our food,” Jon half-heartedly apologized. 

“I’m used to it,” Margaery smiled before taking a swig of ale. 

They sat in silence, but Jon knew that Robb and Arya’s mind burned with a hundred questions. After dinner, Ser Davos joined them. “Ser Davos, this is my brother Robb, Lord of Winterfell, his wife; Margaery Tyrell, Lady of Winterfell, and my younger sister, Arya.” 

“We’ve met,” Davos replied. “Good to see you.” Jon noticed Davos’s voice was tight, as he remembered that Davos accompanied Stannis to Winterfell to ask for more men. Nothing more was said between the two men, but he joined the Starks at the table. 

“Melisandre?” Jon asked. Resurrecting Jon seemed to have taken a lot of strength from the Red Priestess, who for the past week had been bedridden. 

“I told her of Lord Robb’s arrival, but she’s still weak. She sends her apologies and hopes to meet you tomorrow if you’re staying.” 

Jon turned to Robb. “We are if that’s alright,” Robb asked Jon. 

“Of course. I’ll have chambers set and hot water drawn.” Margaery followed a Night’s Watch brother out of the hall, leaving the siblings alone with Davos and Edd. 

“What happened?” Robb laid in. Jon explained everything, from his beginning at the wall, the actions that led to his death. “But how were you brought back?” 

“Melisandre,” Davos answered for Jon. 

“Melisandre?” Arya hissed. “The Red Witch?” 

“You know her?” Jon asked, surprised. 

“The brotherhood sold my friend to Melisandre for King Stannis Baratheon’s cause,” Arya said sourly. 

“If it’s for her cause, then your friend is probably dead,” Davos stated bluntly. Arya grew quiet, but Jon could see tears in her eyes. He pulled her close in a one-armed hug to comfort her. “I know what she’s capable of. I’ve seen it. I asked her if she knew if any magic that could save your brother.” Robb looked at Davos with a look of adoration and disbelief. 

Hours passed, and the topic changed to a lighter one. Arya soon fell asleep, her head leaning against Jon’s shoulder. Davos retired first, then Edd leaving Robb and Jon alone, sitting around the now dull fire. They finished off the ale, and their laughter slowly died into a comfortable silence. “I was surprised to learn that you had become Lord Commander,” Robb admitted. 

“Why?” Jon teased. “Cause I’m a bastard?” 

“No,” Robb quickly replied. “You just seemed like you never wanted a position in power. Isn’t that why you joined the Night’s Watch?” 

“Even as a bastard, you can rise to a position of honor in the Watch,” Jon explained. “I wanted to be more than just Ned Stark’s bastard. Catelyn would have never let me stay in Winterfell when father went to be Hand to the King.” 

“Gods,” Robb replied. “She was horrible to you.” 

“It’s in the past,” Jon brushed off his apology. 

“She regrets it, you know?”

Jon didn’t want to talk about Catelyn, so he quickly changed the subject. “Why did you come to the wall?” 

“I wanted answers as to why your men killed you,” Robb replied. “And I wanted to bring your body home to be buried in the crypts.”

Jon’s throat tightened with emotion. He had to clear it several times before he could speak again. “Is that all?” 

“I’m heading to King’s Landing tomorrow to bend the knee to Daenerys Targaryen.” 

“Really? I’m surprised your bannermen allowed it.” 

“They weren’t too happy, but it’s needed if we are to defeat the Others that Davos wrote about.” Jon froze at the thought of the Others. “How bad is it? Do we stand a chance?” 

“No,” Jon stated bluntly. “The army of the dead is bigger than the occupancy of the North.” Robb’s eyes widened with fear as the realization sank in. “We need more allies if we’re going to survive the long night. Castle Black’s old maester is a Targaryen, and he left to join Daenerys. He knows about the Night King, and I’m sure he’s told her. When you travel South, tell him I told you everything.” 

Robb shook his head before standing to add another log into the fire. “Come with me?” Robb asked. 

It was only hours ago that he was arguing with Edd, telling him he no longer wanted any part of the Night’s Watch; now, Jon had an opportunity to leave, and yet, he had no wish. “I’m their Lord Commander,” Jon said. “I can’t abandon them.” 

“I’m not asking you to abandon your men,” Robb argued. “You’ve seen the army of the dead, and you’ve fought them! I need you in King’s Landing with me when I explain to the Mad King’s daughter that our true enemy lies beyond the wall and that the North needs every able man they can get to protect the Realms of Men.”

Jon didn’t reply, because he knew Robb was right. If the stories were true about Daenerys Targaryen, then they needed her army and her dragons. If they were going to beat the Night King and the dead, they needed every able man they could get. 

Robb walked towards his cloak that he had sat down next to him and dug into the inner pocket. There he held a stack of parchment in his hands. “Before I left, Lord Howland Reed came to see me and told me a secret that only he and our father knew. Lord Howland said that our father told him that after his death, he was supposed to deliver these to the heir on Winterfell.” Robb paused for a moment as he looked down at the parchment in his hands. “He told me everything that these letters contain, and it’s changed everything.” 

Jon swallowed. What was so important in these letters that their father could not share. “Wait?” Jon gasped. “Does it have to do with my mother?” 

Robb’s eyes widened. “You know?” 

“No,” Jon sighed. “The last time I saw our father, he told me that he would tell me about my mother when we saw each other again. I just wondered if there’s anything about her in those letters.” 

Robb handed Jon the stack of letters. “Read those in private. The answers you seek, Jon, are in those letters.” 

______________________________

Jon had been sitting at his desk in his chamber, staring at the parchment in front of him. He had not opened them yet, though, he could see several broken wax seals. His stomach was filled with nerves as Jon stared at the letters. Eight and one years, he desperately wished he knew of his mother, and eight and one years, he cursed his father for never telling him. 

Letting the curiosity get the better of men, he snatched the first letter that was addressed to the heir of Winterfell and quickly read it before pushing it aside and finding the letter addressed to him. Two letters in one, but Jon picked the handwriting he recognized as his fathers. 

Jon, 

Tomorrow you depart for the wall to join the Night’s Watch, and there is so much that I need to tell you, yet, I cannot find the courage or words. Forgive me. 

I know you have questions about your mother, and these letters will give you the proper answers. There is something that I have told no one about, except Lord Howland Reed. I made a promise to your mother as she lay dying on her birthing bed to protect you, and I have done so for six-and-ten years now. 

There are not enough words to make the truth hurt less, but I hope I can provide some comfort in telling you. Jon, you are not my son. You are the legitimate son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. You were born in the Tower of Joy in the Red Mountains of Dorne as I’d come to rescue you.

I do not have all the answers, but I did everything to protect you from my own friend’s hatred of House Targaryen, King Robert Baratheon, the First of His Name.

I hope you will forgive me for never telling you, but just know that I have loved you as my own.

Eddard Stark. 

Jon’s hand shook as he read Ned’s words. He read the letter three more times before moving on to the letter folded against it. This time, it was handwriting he didn’t recognize. As he scanned the message, the script was feminine. 

My child, 

I do not know whether you are a boy or a girl, but it makes no difference as I love you the same. Your father, Rhaegar, believes you to be a boy. He says your kicks are too strong to be female, but he has not met many Northern girls. 

Unfortunately, I wish to be writing to you in happier times, but I’m afraid there is another war, and I am to blame. I was to be betrothed to Robert Baratheon, but my heart belonged to another, your father. Eddard told me that I would learn to love Robert and his flaws, but I know myself too well. 

My heart is heavy as I learned that King Aerys had cruelly killed my father and brother, Brandon. My beloved blames himself and says he could have stopped it if he were there, but King Aerys has always been a cruel man, and now Rhaegar has left me in the protection of Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Oswell Whent while he fights at the Trident against my House and Robert Baratheon. 

I did not wish for any of this to happen, and I begged Rhaegar to bring me with him, but I am to give birth any day now, and he says it’s unsafe. I am alone again and scared for my beloved. I don’t know what I will do if I lose him, but I remain hopeful and in good spirits for as long as I pray. 

The pains have started, and I know that I will meet you soon. Your father wishes to name you Aemon, after his beloved great-uncle, if you are a boy and Rhaella, after his mother, if you are a girl. 

I cannot wait till I can hold you in my arms, my child. I love you, dearly. 

Your mother,  
Lyanna Stark 

Jon watched as a single tear had fallen onto the letter, bleeding through the dry ink. He wiped at his face before rereading it. He choked back a sob as he ran his finger’s over his mother’s last words. How hopeful she was and how already, she had loved him so much. He imagined what Lyanna looked like sitting, locked in a tower, away from the bloody war at the Trident. 

Yet, she had no idea of what was to come, how she would die from the strains of childbirth, with her brother by her side. Her last words were making Ned swear to protect her son from Robert, his friend. Yet, the honorable Ned kept his promise out of his love for his only sister. 

Jon’s mind began to race of thoughts of his birth father. He heard a mix of stories about Rhaegar growing up. How he was loved by many, and how he kidnapped and raped Lyanna, all turned about to be a lie. He sat his mother’s letter down and picked up the next, a letter from Rhaegar, his father to his beloved, Lyanna. 

My beloved, 

I am growing restless without you. It has been too long since I cast a look upon your Northern beauty. Earlier this evening, I saw Elia, whose health is still delicate. Though there is no love between us, I still care genuinely as she has given me two healthy children, and she has become a trusted confidant. 

I asked her if she was mad that I had not crowned her the queen of love and beauty, but she told me that titles did not matter to her. There, I confessed to her that I love another, you. She was not surprised nor hurt but worried that loving you was too dangerous. I promised that I would always make sure she and our children are well taken care of, and with her blessing, you, my dear beloved, and I can marry. 

I was informed that the Riverlands would play host Brandon Stark’s wedding to Lord Hoster Tully’s daughter. Meet me close to Harrenhal, and we can finally be together. 

I await your raven, 

R. 

Letter by letter, Jon read the intimate words exchanged between his parents. When he finished, a burst of anger had exploded through him so violently; he couldn’t stop himself. Jon destroyed his rooms, breaking his desk, throwing his chair against the wall, watching the room splinter into pieces. He unsheathed Longclaw and destroyed his bed, feathers flying everywhere, coating his dark hair. 

Years of feeling like an outsider, years of mistreatment and cruelty from Catelyn had rushed through him and left him sitting in the middle of his destruction, sobbing like a child. 

___________________________________

There a dull pounding noise coming from somewhere. It was pulling Jon out of his dream of climbing the endless tower steps to reach his dying mother. “No!” he screamed as the scene faded away. “No! Wait!” 

Jon opened his eyes, and the pounding was still there, but louder. “I know you’re in there!” Ser Davos shouted on the other side of his door. “I told you not to drink so much!” 

Jon peeled himself from the freezing floor, and he saw how much destruction he had done. Feathers and wood splinters coated the floor white. His desk that once stood in the corner lay split in two, the items scattered everywhere, including the letters Robb had given him. 

“Jon!” Davos pounded again, not giving up. 

“Hold on,” Jon responded. There was no point in trying to clean up, but he quickly collected the letters and shoved them in his cloak’s inner pocket. He took a deep breath before opening his door. 

The older man took in his appearance and gave him a teasing grin. “Rough night?” 

“You can say that,” Jon said, opening the door wider to allow Davos room to step inside. He quietly watched as his friend study the chaos around them. 

“What happened here,” Davos asked. 

“It’s a long story,” Jon replied, unsure if he wanted to tell Davos about what he learned. 

Davos picked up on Jon’s shortness and quickly got to the reason why he’d come. “Your siblings await you in the hall,” he explained. “Lord Robb tells me that he’s asked you to accompany him to King’s Landing?” 

“Aye,” Jon replied. “He wants me to come since I’m the only one who’s seen and fought the army of the dead.” 

“I think it’s a good idea. It’d be hard to explain to a Queen about an enemy he’s never seen.” 

Jon nodded, knowing Davos was right. “I want you to come with me. You know more about the South than any of us.” 

Davos smiled at Jon. “I’ll send a raven back home,” Davos said. “Tell my sons to come to King’s Landing.” 

“Tell Melisandre to pack her belongings. I want her coming with us.” 

Jon met his siblings and Margaery in the hall, where he ate until he felt fatter than a stuffed hog. He prepared mutton and ale for the trip. They were to travel to White Harbor, where they’ll buy a boat and sail the rest of their journey to King’s Landing. Grey Wind and Ghost would accompany them. “Grey Wind is always with me,” Robb gave a clipped explanation when Jon suggested leaving their direwolves behind. 

As Jon tightened his horse’s saddle, Robb snuck upon him. “Did you read the letters?” he asked Jon. 

“Aye,” he replied.

“And? How are you taking it?” 

“I just learned that our father isn’t my father; it’s the Mad King’s son. Everything I thought I knew has been a lie, but it all makes sense.” 

“But do you know what being the son of Rhaegar Targaryen means?” Robb asked. Jon shook his head because he didn’t have a clue. “It means you’re the true heir to the Iron Throne, not Daenerys Targaryen.” 

“You’re wrong,” Jon hissed. 

“Think about it! You’re the last living son of Rhaegar Targaryen! Daenerys might be the Mad King’s daughter, but Rhaegar was Aerys heir. The two children he had with Elia were murdered on the orders of Robert. That makes you the true heir, not Daenerys!” Jon could hear the excitement in Robb’s voice, and he immediately shut it down. 

“Enough!” Jon hissed. “It doesn’t matter. I was a raised a bastard, and that’s all I’ll ever be, no matter the truth. So, keep what you know between us. Got it?” 

Robb was surprised by Jon’s anger, but he did not say another word. After leaving Edd as acting Lord Commander, the Stark siblings-including Jon, along with Lady Margaery, Ser Davos, and Melisandre, went on their journey to save the realms of men.


	8. JON II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> JON, ROBB, ARYA, MARGAERY, MELISANDRE, AND DAVOS TRAVEL TO WHITE HARBOR WHEN THEY RUN INTO SOMEONE UNEXPECTED CAUSING ROBB TO ACT AS WARDEN OF THE NORTH. 
> 
> EVENTUALLY, WITH THE HELP OF DAVOS AND HIS USEFUL SKILL AS A SEA CAPTAIN, THE GROUP REACHES KING'S LANDING AND MEET THE QUEEN HERSELF, DAENERYS TARGARYEN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update** I changed one thing in this chapter. Missandei is not Daenerys's hand for right now. Just a trusted advisor.

The trip to White Harbor was uneventful. Jon stayed quiet for most of the trip, afraid that if he spoke to Robb, he would bring up “the heir of the Iron Throne” gig again. Honestly, the miles between Castle Black and White Harbor, Jon had convinced himself that the whole thing was just a terrible joke. The countless times he had almost burned the letters into the small campfire that kept him warm during the nights. Yet, he never gathered the courage to go through with it. Jon always tucked them neatly back into his cloak pocket and drank himself stupid. 

They quickly found a ship with the help of Davos, who used his experience as a smuggler. “Give me some time, and I’ll get us out of the port tonight,” Davos said. “Just bring me some mutton and ale.” 

Robb, Margaery, Arya, and Jon headed toward the local pub to keep warm and to get their belly’s full of a hot supper. “I can’t wait for warmer weather,” Margaery said, her teeth chattering. 

“I thought you liked the North?” Robb asked, placing his cloak around Margaery’s shoulders. 

“It’s beautiful,” she apologetically smiled. “But-”

“You haven’t experienced winter yet,” Arya said. “Father always told us winter would come. I’m afraid it will soon. It’s a lot colder than it was before I left for King’s Landing.” 

“What do you think, Jon?” Robb asked. 

“Aye,” Jon replied. “It’ll be here soon. Maybe a year or two.” Jon caught Robb’s eye, a silent understanding exchanged between them. “And when it comes, the Long Night will come with it.”

“What?” Margaery asked. “What is it you’re not saying?”

“When we’re younger, one of the first stories we’re told by our old nan’s is that of the wall. Why is it built and who built it,” Robb explained. “According to legend, Brandon the Builder built the wall with help from the Children of the Forest They sealed it with ancient spells and sorcery against the Others.”

“When King Jaehaerys and Queen Alysanne Targaryen visited Winterfell, she flew her dragon, Silverwing to the wall, and the dragon refused to cross!” Arya chimed in with useless information, her eyes wide with childish delight. 

“What are the Others?” Margaery asked.

“The Others have many names. Their bodies are made from solid ice, and they have cold blue eyes, brighter than blue stars. They’re excellent swordsmen and yield crystal swords that can break through any steel except Valyrian. They say a Night’s King controls the Others and wights.” 

“Wights?” Margaery whispered, hanging on Jon’s every word. 

“Wights are dead men or creatures that have been resurrected by the Others or the Night’s King himself,” Jon continued. 

“But no one has seen the Others for eight thousand years,” Arya said. “They’re believed to be extinct.” 

“They’re not,” Jon replied. “I’ve seen them. I fought against them at Hardhome. They have an army larger than the occupancy of the North.” 

“Is that why-” Robb began to ask, but Jon cut him off. 

“For years the Night’s Watch has thought the Free Folk was our enemy, but they’ve been trying to survive against the Others. The slaughter at Hardhome has nearly wiped them out. The only surviving Free Folk are the ones I managed to save from the slaughter against the army of the dead.” 

No one said anything for the longest time. “Wait? You said the Long Night. I think I heard about that once,” Margaery said. “Didn’t it occur during the Age of Heroes?” 

“Yes,” Robb said. “A darkness fell across the Known World amid a great winter that lasted for a generation. The Others raised an army to fight the living, so the children of the forest and the First Men fought together to defeat the Others. For a while, the living was losing, until it was discovered that a weapon could kill them. That’s why Brandon the Builder constructed the wall, so nothing like this happens again.” 

___________________________

An hour went by when Davos returned. Jon had bought him a hot supper, knowing that whatever food they would have on the ship wouldn’t be anywhere good as the one in the tavern. “Where’s Melisandre?” Jon asked. 

“She’s on the ship,” Davos replied around a mouthful of food. “She’s not doing too good. I’m afraid the seas might not be kind to her in her condition.” 

“Have we not found a maester who can travel?” Jon asked. 

“Aye. He’s just collecting his things.” 

“Well, we’ll fetch her a hot supper before we leave.” 

“I don’t see why the Red Witch had to come with us,” Arya spat nastily. 

“What do you mean, girl? She doesn’t belong in the North,” Davos laughed. 

“She’s an evil woman! She bought my friend from the Brotherhood Without Banners to use for her craft!” 

“Does this friend 3happen to have a name?” Robb teased his sister. Jon couldn’t hide the smirk that played on his lips either. 

“Gendry,” Arya huffed, embarrassed. Jon could see that her cheeks began turning a coral pink. 

Davos froze, gaining the attention of Jon. “Did you know him?” he asked his friend. 

“He’s Robert Baratheon’s bastard,” Davos stated flabbergasted. “There were rumors that Robert had fathered several bastards, and some had survived somehow after Cersei Lannister ordered them killed. I was at King’s Landing when they brought the boy. He did look like King Robert; there was no denying it; but, when word that Daenerys Targaryen had sailed to Westeros, Melisandre wanted to use his blood to help defeat the Targaryen girl.” 

“I knew it!” Arya stood, but Davos reached out his hand to stop her. 

“I didn’t let that happen, girl,” Davos said. “As soon as I figured out what she wanted the boy for, I freed him. Took him beneath the Red Keep, where I arranged a small boat that would take him away from King’s Landing.”

“How would Gendry’s blood help defeat Daenerys?” Robb asked, dumbfounded. 

But Arya quickly cut in, not allowing Davos to answer Robb’s question. “Where is he now?” 

“That I don’t know. I told the boy to sail as far away from King’s Landing. I knew Stannis would have men searching for him.” Davos turned towards Robb, not forgetting his question. “Melisandre convinced Stannis that he was the Prince-Who-Was-Promised, and to fulfill that prophecy, he needed Gendry’s blood-King’s blood,” Davos patted the young Stark girl’s hand with a sympathetic smile. “But, that boy is stubborn, and as soon as he realizes that Stannis is dead, he’ll come back home.” 

After Davos finished his supper, the group traveled to the large vessel. Jon could see Melisandre in the glowing candlelight, talking to a man that looked like a younger version of Jeor Mormont. As they got closer, Jon raked his eyes over the knight’s armor and saw the bear sigil engraved upon the cuirass. “Lord Robb,” Melisandre nodded. “This is-”

“Ser Jorah Mormont,” Jon finished the introduction. “I served with your father.” Jon could see the sadness in the knight’s eyes, and it seemed as if he knew about his father’s death. Had Melisandre told him already? Had Jorah asked her? Or had his title given it away? 

“Weren’t you exiled by our father?” Robb asked, standing a little straighter, holding onto his sword’s hilt to show his position. 

“I was,” Jorah replied, holding his own sword’s hilt, showcasing that he wasn’t intimidated by Robb. 

“Then why are you here in the North? I’m sure my father told you if you’d ever step foot in the North again, he’d have your head.”

“Aye, he did,” Jorah replied honestly. “I’ve been sent to the wall by my Queen, Daenerys Targaryen.” 

“For?” Robb asked, sounding impatient, yet curious. 

“I betrayed her. Lord Varys hired to spy on her for King Robert Baratheon.” 

“So your loyalties lied with King Robert,” Davos asked. “What made them change to the young Targaryen queen?” 

There was an odd look that flickered in Jorah’s eyes as he began to speak. “I watched her walk into the pyre’s flames that burnt the corpse of her dead Dothraki husband, and I stayed until the fire was nothing but ash. I waited, expecting nothing, but as the smoke disappeared, she sat, unburned, holding her newly hatched dragons.” 

“So it is true,” Arya gasped. “Dragons have returned to Westeros?” 

“Three of them,” Jorah confirmed. “That night came alive with the music of dragons.” 

Robb stared at Jorah almost as if he didn’t want to believe the Northern traitor, but Jon knew that he was telling the truth. He could see the wonder and fear brewing in Jorah’s eyes. 

“If you’re looking for a ship to take you to Castle Black, I’m afraid you’re at the wrong one,” Robb spoke. “We’re sailing to King’s Landing.” 

“He’s coming with us,” Melisandre spoke, surprising the group. 

“What do you mean? He’s a Northern traitor! He deserves to be executed!” Robb snapped. 

“I saw him fighting in the flames against the Others. He plays a part in the war to come.” 

Robb looked at Jon as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing. “I’d listen to her, My Lord,” Davos spoke on Melisandre’s behalf. 

Robb looked at Jon for backup, but Jon wouldn’t give it to him. Just like Davos, he knew the wonders Melisandre could do. She had brought him back from death. “Davos is right. I’d listen to her.”  
____________________________________________________

They were a day away from King’s Landing, thanks to Davos’s expertise as a captain. Most of the ship was asleep, but Jon found it hard to sleep these days. He stood on the deck of the vessel, Ghost lying by his feet, his massive head propped against Jon’s boots, his soft snores drowned out by the waves hitting the side of the large vessel. 

It was an unusual calm night. The moon was large and bright, the stars twinkling in greeting to him. To Jon, the stillness filled him with anxiety. They were a day out from King’s Landing, and the stack of letters began to feel like they were burning a hole in his cloak pocket. 

“It makes me feel better to know that I’m not the only one getting any sleep around here,” Robb, Jon’s brother, said, coming out of the darkness. Grey Wind, Robb’s direwolf, pranced up to Ghost, who was now awake and wagging his tail. 

Jon watched the two direwolves run around the deck before he replied to his brother. “Well, by the noises coming from your chambers, I’m surprised you can walk,” Jon teased. “And I thought Northern girls were the wild ones?”

“Southern girls are a lot more--” Robb was now leaning against the ships’ rail, staring out into the black sea. “More.” 

“How’s that going?” Jon asked. “You seem happy.” 

“I am,” Robb smiled. “Margaery is a good woman. Beautiful and smart. I haven’t come across any person who doesn’t like her.” 

“That surprises you?” 

“You know how Northmen can be. Brooding, judgemental, and proud ole’ fools.” Robb laughed, knocking shoulders against Jon. “I wonder what father would’ve thought about Margaery?” 

“I’m sure he would’ve liked her,” Jon said. “What about your mother? How does Lady Catelyn like her?” 

“Fine enough. Mother’s used to being in charge, so it’s new to have another Lady of Winterfell there.” 

“I imagine that is hard for her,” Jon laughed. The conversation grew quite soon after, but Jon could sense that Robb wanted to talk about the letters. Honestly, Jon cursed Lord Reed forever, giving Robb the letters. “Go on, out with it.” 

“Are you going to act like you never read ‘em?” Robb asked. 

“Aye,” Jon replied. “I made that decision before we reached White Harbor.” 

“Why?” 

“Because I don’t know if these letters come from Rhaegar Targaryen or Lyanna.” 

“That’s father’s writing, though! Lord Howland himself gave these to me! Why would they lie?” 

“I don’t know,” Jon snapped. “Why couldn’t father tell me the truth before we parted? I was going to join the Night’s Watch. I’d spend the rest of my days at the wall!” 

“Maybe he thought telling you the truth would make you ambitious? Seek the throne for yourself?” Robb guessed. 

“And with what help? The North paid no mind to me, add that with a Targaryen name, I’d be the North’s enemy if they believed me.” Robb sighed in equal frustration. “Why do you and Lady Catelyn believe the letters? Just because it’s our father’s handwriting? Or that our father's best friend held onto them for years?” 

“It makes sense with the timing and everything. Lyanna, if she were kidnapped, was gone just shy a year when father returned with her body and with you. With our grandfather and uncle dead, our father only cared about getting revenge against their murders and getting Lyanna back. Do you think father would’ve stopped by a brothel during that time?” 

“Robert’s Rebellion was almost twenty years ago. My father was a different person than the one that got him killed.” They both grew quiet listening to the waves hitting the side of the ship, their agitation stirring between them. There was something that had been lingering on Jon’s mind. “If I were the son of Rhaegar Targaryen, why don’t I look more like him? Silver hair and purple eyes? There’s no sign that I am a Targaryen. I’ve always been told that I favor father in looks.” 

“Maybe the Stark genes are strong?” Robb laughed before standing straight, calling Grey Wind to heel.

“Not stronger than the Tully traits. You, Sansa, Bran, and Rickon have reddish hair and blue eyes like Lady Catelyn. Arya and I are the only ones who look like father.” Jon turned towards Robb, who didn’t know what to say. “If I were a Targaryen, how would anyone know?”

“You could ride a dragon,” Robb joked, earning a laugh from Jon. “Queen Daenerys has three. If the dragon doesn’t eat your or burn you alive, of course.” Robb bent down and patted Ghost before standing and yawning. “What do you want to do with this information, Jon? If you don’t wish to speak about it again, I won’t. But, if you wish to do something with it--I’ll back you every step. You know, I will!” 

Jon pulled Robb into a hug, grateful for his support. Whether he was a Targaryen or not, he needed to tuck it away as they focused on the only thing that mattered. “For now, let’s not speak about it again.” 

_______________________________

KINGS LANDING 

The first impression Jon got of King’s Landing was the smell. From miles away, he could smell something foul that Davos described as the city’s ‘shit.’ “I’m afraid you won’t get used to it,” Davos stated. “Just best to hold your breath when you can and don’t breathe through your mouth.” 

The port was located on Blackwater Rush, which Davos grew uncharacteristically quiet. Jon knew that this was where his son, Matthos, had perished in the wildfire attack against the Lannisters. 

“Do you know if your family has arrived?” Jon asked the older-gentleman. 

“I’ll check the local inn on Eel Alley once we’ve seen the Queen,” Davos replied. 

“Are you sure? I know this might be hard for you since Princess Shireen’--,” 

“I’ll be fine,” Davos cut Jon off quickly.  
As they reached the Iron Gate, the captains, who stood guard, were an army Jon did not recognize. “What’s your business in King’s Landing?” one of them asked. 

“I am Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Queen Daenerys Targaryen has requested my company.” 

As the soldiers talked among themselves, Ser Jorah bent over and whispered to their group. “See their sigil? The skulls stacked onto the tip of the spear? That’s the Golden Company.”

They were allowed through the gate, but several soldiers had accompanied them towards the Red Keep. As the group walked, Jon fell behind to talk to Ser Jorah Mormont. “By your reaction at White Harbor, I assume you know that your father is dead.” 

“Aye,” Jorah replied. “I had questions when she told me that she was traveling with a Lord Commander named Jon Snow, but she did not tell me how my father died.” 

“He was slain by one of his own men, Ollo Lophand. There were rumors that the Others had been spotted, causing the Freefolk to gather. Your father led a great expedition beyond the Wall, but he was killed during the Mutiny at Craster’s Keep.” 

“I see that you have Longclaw,” Jorah nodded at the Mormont sword, jealousy flashing through his eyes. 

“Your father gave me this sword for saving his life from a wight,” Jon explained. “He changed the pommel from a bear to a wolf, but it’s the same sword.” The knight must have wanted his father’s sword back, but Jon selfishly did not want to part from the sword.

“He deserved a better son from the one he got, and I can’t think of a worse way for him to go. The Night’s Watch was his life. He would’ve died protecting every one of those men, and they butchered him.”

“I hate that he died that way,” Jon snarled before deciding to do what was right. He stopped and unbuckled his sword belt and handed Longclaw to the exiled knight. “This sword has been in your family for centuries. It’s not right for me to have it.” He watched as Jorah slowly admired the Valyrian steel with sadness pouring from his eyes. 

“I brought shame onto my house. I broke my father’s heart. I forfeited the right to claim this sword.” Jorah tucked the sword away before handing it back to Jon. “If my father gave it to you, then he deemed you worthy of wielding it. May it serve you well.” 

As the soldiers guided the group through the city, Jon spotted the Red Keep sitting upon Aegon’s Hill. It was a beautiful castle that stretched across the hill overlooking the town. “A bit overwhelming, eh?” Robb nudged Jon. “Wait till you see the inside.”

As they walked further into the city, Jon noticed that the Golden Company marched through the streets; the elegant swords clipped to their sides. Another group of soldiers flooded throughout the ally’s too, but most stood guard. These men wore pointed helmets that covered everything just above their mouths. On the helmets, long rectangles were cut into the metal to allow the soldiers to see, and instead of lavish swords at their hips, they carried long pointed spears. 

Jon heard Robb whistle from beside him as he placed his hand on his hilt. “This place is well guarded. 

“Stannis didn’t have enough men to man the streets,” Davos replied. 

“I wonder how large her army is,” Margaery asked no one in particular. 

“Queen Daenerys bought around fifteen thousand Unsullied in Astapor,” Jorah explained. “Only a couple of hundred Dothraki stayed with her after Khal Drogo’s death. Some say the Golden Company hosts ten or twenty thousand men and two dozen war elephants.” 

“Elephants?” Margaery and Arya gasped excitedly. “I’d like to see those!” 

Jon was too busy to think about elephants. He fantasized about having a large enough army to defeat the Others. He knew with an army as large as Daenerys and her three dragons--that he had not seen yet, they could pose a dangerous threat against the army of the dead. 

They reached Shadowblack Lane, a twisty route starting at the edge of Aegon’s hill that led to the Red Keep. Some Unsullied soldiers stood at attention at the side of the lane, the spears ready to use at a command they’re given. The Golden Company soldiers that had been guiding their group sputtered to the soldiers, before passing them off. 

“They don’t talk much, do they?” Davos asked. 

“The Unsullied were slave soldiers before Daenerys bought them and set them free,” Jorah explained. “They’re taught at a young age to obey without question and fall nothing short of perfection. These are the only men I’ve ever met that do not fear anything.” 

“Nothing?” Margaery asked, surprised. “Surely, they must fear something?”

“Not the Unsullied, My Lady,” Jorah replied with all seriousness. “That’s why they make excellent soldiers. They do not fear their enemy nor death.”

“I heard that the Unsullied are excellent fighters,” Arya chimed in. “I’ve read stories about the Three Thousand of Qohor. They fought a Dothraki khalasar over fifty thousand strong. Only six hundred Unsullied survived, having killed twelve thousand of the Dothraki. And to honor the Unsullied, the surviving Dothraki cut their braids and threw them down at the Unsullied’s feet!” 

“Why did they cut their hair?” Margaery asked, curious. 

“It’s part of their culture,” Jorah answered. “When they are defeated, they must cut their braids to show their defeat.” 

They reached the steps of the Red Keep and a bald fat man, and a dusky-skinned woman waited to greet them. “Ser Jorah,” the bald man spoke. “Our Queen has banished you from the city.” 

“Lord Varys,” Jorah greeted the man. “I come as a guest of Lord Robb Stark.” 

“I’m not sure how our Queen will take to that,” Lord Varys replied. “You have disobeyed her command.”

“Dear spider,” Melisandre stepped forward, there was something in the way she greeted Lord Varys that made the hair on the back of Jon’s neck stand up. “Ser Jorah Mormont is here because my Lord demands it.” 

“Yes,” Lord Varys smiled cockily. “We know about your Lord, Melisandre. I’m not sure I trust what he lets you see.”

“I can hear the doubt in your voice, spider, but if you want, I can tell you what he showed you that night,” Melisandre replied, causing Lord Varys’s color to drain from his face. 

The older man narrowed his eyes before he remembered that they were not alone. “Lord Robb Stark,” Varys greeted with a quick nod. “It’s good to see you.” Jon noticed that the man’s hands were tucked between his large sleeves, and he wondered if the man didn’t have any hands or thought he was too good to shake Robb’s hand. 

“You’ve met my wife, Lady Margaery,” Robb asked Lord Varys. 

“Lord Varys,” Margaery greeted. “Serving another royal? How many does that make now?” 

“Doesn’t matter,” the man dismissed. “You should be happy to know that your grandmother, mother, and your brother Loras await your reunion inside.”

Robb cleared his throat before continuing his introductions. “This is my brother, Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”

“Ned Stark’s bastard,” Lord Varys said. “I’ve heard stories about you.” 

Jon felt his heart still at the bald man’s words. What did this man know about Jon? Did he know about the letters? 

“And this is Ser Davos Seaworth,” Robb finished. 

“The Onion Knight,” Varys nodded again before turning his attention to the dusky-skinned woman. “Missandei, here is the Queen’s most trusted advisor.” 

“Welcome to King’s Landing,” Missandei’s voice was gentle as a child’s hug. She was a beautiful girl, her dark curls sat upon her shoulders, and she bore a three-headed dragon sigil on her red dress. “Our Queen knows that this is a long journey. She appreciates the efforts you have made on her behalf. She has accommodated your men to stay at the local inn, all expenses are paid, of course. She asks for you to forge over your weapons as a token of good faith.”

Robb shared a look with Jon, who was displeased with the idea of surrendering Longclaw over to the Mad King’s daughter. It was a known fact that the Stark men don’t fare well in the South.

Arya, who had been mostly quiet since their arrival, suddenly spoke. “Where are the Queen’s dragons?” she asked. 

“The dragons come and go,” Missandei replied with a smile. “But they don’t stray far away from their mother.” 

________________________________

Jon nervously picked at his fingers as they stood outside the door to the throne room. He knew that they could be walking into a trap. This Daenerys Targaryen could be just as mad as her father, yet something inside him, a small voice, told him that this wasn’t the case. Sure, they had to surrender their weapons, but Robb and Jon had weapons of their own, Ghost and Grey Wind, their loyal direwolves who would rip out their enemy’s throat if commanded. 

Lord Varys and Missandei had disappeared, only when an older knight returned. “Ser Jorah,” the older gentleman greeted Jorah, his body language tense. 

“Ser Barristan Selmy,” Jorah greeted, his body just as tense. 

“The Queen knows you are here and would like to speak to you privately. Of course, you’ll be held in the cells until then.” Jorah’s head dropped a little, but he let himself be guided away without a fight. 

Jon turned to look at Melisandre, who didn’t seem to worry about Jorah’s fate, which put Jon at a little ease. The throne room opened, and immediately, a dragon’s skull greeted them. It was a massive thing and was held sturdy as it dangled from the throne room’s ceiling. 

As they walked among the lavish golden tiles to the throne, Jon almost came rooted to the very spot he walked. There, a petite young girl around the same age as he sat on the Iron Throne. Her hair silver pulled back in a lavish large braid that hung over her right shoulder. Her eyes were as purple as that of an amethyst, and the deep red coloring of her dress made her fair skin stand out against the dark coloring of the throne. But, it was her beauty that nearly knocked the wind out of him. Sure, Jon had met pretty girls before, but none like this. From half across the room, Daenerys was breathlessly stunning.

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons,” Missandei’s gentle voice was now gone, but replaced with one of confidence as it echoed off the lavish walls of the throne room. 

“This is Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell and his wife Lady Margaery of House Tyrell, Lady of Winterfell. His youngest sister, Lady Arya Stark and his half-brother, Jon Snow, who serves as Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch,” Davos introduced tightly.

“And you are?” Daenerys asked, her voice sweet like honey and girlish.

“Ser Davos Seaworth, Your Grace,” Davos answered before turning his attention towards Melisandre. “This is---” 

“I didn’t expect to meet you again, Melisandre,” Daenerys spoke, cutting off the older man. 

“I knew that we would cross paths again, Your Grace,” Melisandre stated. 

“Thank you, My Lords, for traveling all this way. I hope the winds were kind,” Daenerys spoke to Robb. 

“They were, thank you, Your Grace,” Robb bowed his head. 

“I’m hoping that your arrival means that House Stark has chosen not to break faith with House Targaryen?” 

“With all due respect, Your Grace, but my men think I’m a fool for coming here. They think I’ve signed my death wish to bend the knee to the Mad King’s daughter.” 

Jon watched Daenerys's wide smile slightly falter. She grew silent for a moment before speaking again. “My Lord, do you believe we grow to become our parents?” 

“I think we come to share similar traits,” Robb replied honestly. “The ones that they teach us.”

“My father didn’t get the opportunity,” Daenerys replied. “It was my brother, Viserys. He was the one who told me stories about our father. I do not share the same fascination he had for torture or wildfire. I knew what my father was and what he did. Though he is my father, and I love him, I find his actions cruel and distasteful.” 

Daenerys stood and climbed down the throne steps coming to meet her guest just halfway where the Starks stood. “I am not my father, no more than you are Ned Stark. I am Daenerys Stormbron, First of Her Name, and you are Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell.” 

“The North will not accept a Targaryen as their Queen, not after what your father has done to my grandfather and uncle. Not after so many lives were slain at the Battle of the Trident.” 

Jon cleared his throat in a panic to gain Robb’s attention. Robb was right that the North wouldn’t accept a Targaryen as their Queen, but their Northern pride had to be pushed aside. Jon didn’t trust Daenerys, but she was better than her father to keep them alive this long. If they were going to win the war against the Other, they needed Daenerys, her armies, and her dragons. 

Robb met Jon’s gaze and deeply inhaled in frustration. Jon could read what his brother was thinking on his face. He knew Robb was thinking of their father and what he would’ve done in this position. Ned came to King’s Landing to serve as the Hand of the King but lost his head before returning North because of the mistakes he made. Robb couldn’t afford to make the same ones. 

“I was chosen by my men to protect the North against our enemies, and that’s what I’m doing by coming here and asking for your help.” 

“Help? What do you need my help for? Is there a war brewing in the North that I’m not aware of?”Daenerys asked as she looked from Robb to Lord Varys. 

“My spies have not told me of anything,” Lord Varys replied, confused. “If there is another war, it must be fairly new, Your Grace.” 

“There is a war that is coming,” Melisandre spoke, her voice dark and mesmerizing. When she spoke again, it was in a language that Jon didn’t recognize. “I’ve seen you fighting in the flames against those who bring the night with them. They are called the Others, and they are coming, Your Grace. Ask Jon Snow about them. He’s seen them and fought against them.” 

Daenerys looked over at Jon, which caused a chill to run down his spine. “You need my help in defeating the Others? I have not heard of such men. What makes them different?”

“They are not men, Your Grace,” Jon answered. “They are dead, and they host an army larger than the capacity of the North.” 

“The dead?” Jon could tell Daenerys had stopped taking their conversation seriously. 

“I didn’t believe it either, Your Grace. Not until I saw them for myself and fought against them. The Others can resurrect the men, women, children, and creatures they have slain. I’ve seen them do it. They don’t care who they kill. It’s just another body for their army.” 

Jon could see that Daenerys didn’t fully believe him, but she was no longer dismissing the idea altogether. “The North grows colder each day,” Robb said. “I’m afraid in a year or two; the dead will be upon us.” 

“What’s happened to the wall? I thought it was supposed to protect the Realms of Men against such enemies?” Ser Barristan asked. 

“We do not know the magic the Others hold. If they can resurrect men, women, children, and creatures for their armies--”

“They might be able to destroy the wall,” Daenerys finished Jon’s sentence.


	9. H O U S E      T A R G A R Y E N

Daenerys stood in the Queen’s chamber as she braided Missandei’s hair with silver clips. She had been in King’s Landing for a full moon now, yet King’s Landing didn’t feel like her home. Daenerys hoped that would change with her great-uncle’s arrival Aemon, who would be arriving today from Dragonstone for her coronation. 

Missandei, her best friend, had seemed quiet since their arrival, which began to worry Daenerys. “How are you adjusting, my dear one?” Daenerys asked her friend. 

She could feel Missandei tense underneath her, which stopped Daenerys from continuing her task. “It’s beautiful, Your Grace,” she replied with a little hesitation. 

Daenerys came to sit before her friend, worrying etched deep in her full brows. “What is it? Are you not happy here?” The last thing she wanted was for Missandei to be miserable in their home. 

“I am,” Missandei smiled. “It’s just … the smell, Your Grace. I didn’t expect it to -” 

Daenerys laughed loudly, her anxiety leaving her body. “Yes,” she replied through her laughter. “I’m not used to it, either. I’ll ask Ser Barristan if we can have fresh wildflowers put in every room, but even then, I’m afraid it won’t get rid of the smell entirely.” Missandei smiled but grew quiet again. “What is it? You can tell me!” 

“When we were traveling to King’s Landing. The handmaidens and I were washing in the sea. I looked up and saw Grey Worm staring at me.” 

“Do you think he was spying on you?” Daenerys asked. 

“No, not spying,” she defended him. 

“The Dothraki think outsiders are ridiculous, taking shame in the naked body. They make love under the stars for the whole khalasar to see,” Daenerys explained. The whole was exotic, but one that Daenerys embraced when she married Khal Drogo. 

“Yes, Your Grace,” Missandei replied embarrassedly. 

“But, you are not Dothraki.” 

“No.” 

“Well, I don’t see why it matters. Grey Worm isn’t interested.” The Unsullied, from Daenerys’s understanding, was that they only cared about fighting. They lived and breathed to fight. “None of the Unsullied care what’s under our clothes.”

“I believe he was interested,” Missandei confessed, shocking Daenerys. 

“When the slavers castrate the boys, do they take all of it? You know, the pillar and the stones?”

“I don’t know, Your Grace.” 

“Haven’t you ever wondered?” she did. Daenerys might be young, but men enjoyed the pleasures life gave them. 

“Yes, Your Grace.” 

“Are you interested?” Daenerys asked. 

“I’m not sure,” she replied. 

Daenerys sat back and thought about the situation. She wouldn’t care if they were interested in one another. Grey Worm was a great man and even better soldier, but Missandei knew that her time with Grey Worm was counted. There was always a big chance that he wouldn’t come back from the war. “If you’re seeking my blessing, you have it. You are free to love who you want.”   
_______________________________________

Maester Aemon arrived just past noon and was immediately taken to the Hand’s quarters, where he rested. Daenerys was eager to greet him but knew the older man needed his rest. 

The next day, Daenerys busied herself with her dragons, continuing her riding lessons with Drogon. The dragons grew larger every day, as well as their aggressiveness. Drogon was believed to be Balerion the Black Dread, come again, and more often than none, she wondered if Aegon had the same problems with his dragon. 

Drogon wasn’t in the mood for a ride today, which frustrated Daenerys. She rode Drogon into battle against Stannis Baratheon, and though she was comfortable, there were more times where she felt confident on his back. Daenerys sat in the pit as she stared at Drogon, who was curled into a ball, ignoring her, to Rhaegal and Viserion, who observed her when an idea came to mind. 

How many times would Drogon go off on his own and not find her until a week later? What if she needed him and he wasn’t there? Daenerys walked up to Rhaegar and began petting him affectionately when he seemed to read her mind. Before she could even try to climb on him, he let out a hiss before flapping his wings that threw her back. “Very well,” Daenerys said, wiping the dirt from her clothes. 

Viserion, on the other hand, seemed open-minded. Again, she stroked her dragon’s nose. “Will you let me try? Don’t be stubborn like your brothers.” 

Viserion leaned his head into his mother’s embrace but lowered his wing. Daenerys loved all of her children, but she had a closer bond to Drogon and Viserion. Drogon was named after her husband, her sun and stars. She owed Drogo a lot; he helped her find her inner courage and the ability to stand up for herself. When Daenerys named one of her dragons after her brother, Viserys, she would make sure that the dragon would accomplish everything Viserys couldn’t do. 

Daenerys climbed on top of Viserion without a riding saddle, which lay abandoned at the stone steps. Viserion was a lot smaller than Drogon, which made straddling a lot more comfortable. “Fly,” she ordered. She grabbed hold of his spikes as the dragon lifted them from the ground. Drogon looked up at his mother and brother before laying his head back down, but Rhaegal joined them. The two dragons flew away from King’s Landing, past the salty sea, leaving both the kingdom and the smell behind. 

It was near supper time when Daenerys requested hers to be brought to Aemon’s room. After a quick bath, she traveled to the Tower of the Hand. Excitement ran through her as she quietly knocked on his door. “Come in!” A weak voice called from the other side.

Daenerys stuck her head in and saw her great-uncle sitting in a large, plush chair by the window. As she stepped further into the room, Aemon seemed to realize it was her. “Your Grace,” he went to stand up, but Daenerys insisted him to remain sitting. 

“I told you to stop calling me that,” she softly scolded. “How are you feeling, great-uncle?” 

“I’m afraid that’s the last trip I have in me,” Aemon replied. “I’ve traveled enough in my life. I dare say, I don’t miss it.” 

Daenerys pulled up another chair to sit across from her great-uncle. She grabbed his hands and was almost taken aback by how cold they were. “I hope you don’t mind company for supper?” she asked, warming his hands between hers. “I know I should let your rest more.”

“Of course not,” he smiled. “I’m delighted to see you too, my dear.”

They ate in comfortable silence before Aemon started asking about the battle against Stannis. Daenerys told him everything, from how they took Stannis by surprise and how the Unsullied and the Golden Company fought relentlessly. She explained how they tried to retreat further back to King’s Landing when Daenerys and her dragons attacked the remaining group. 

“I wish I could see the power behind your dragons,” Aemon smiled. “But, I don’t need eyes to imagine the fire breathing from their mouths, and you riding on the back, your silver hair blowing in the breeze. What a sight to behold!” 

“I took Viserion and Rhaegal out hunting today,” Daenerys stated. “I’m afraid their size isn’t the only thing that grows larger each day. They are becoming more aggressive. Drogon likes to spend weeks hunting, and I’m afraid he won’t return one day.” 

“The bond you have with those dragons, they will never abandon you. You are their mother.” He got quiet before his blind gaze widened. “Did you say you took Viserion and Rhaegal out? Where was Drogon?” 

“In the pit,” she replied. 

“You rode another dragon?”

“I tried with Rhaegal, but he bucked me off. Viserion allowed it. Why?” 

“There has never been a Targaryen who’s flown two dragons,” Aemon explained. “I must call upon Sam for me. I need to learn more about this.” 

Daenerys tried to remember everything Viserys had told her about dragons and their riders. Everything she read in books, she couldn’t remember if there had been a Targaryen that ever flew two dragons. Why was she so different? 

Daenerys squeezed Aemon’s hands affectionately. “Before I go, I want to ask you something. Ser Barristan tells me that I should be thinking about who I want to help me serve the Realms of Men. I need someone who I trust and love to help me guide me, and I was hoping you would serve as my Hand.” 

Aemon’s milky eyes filled with tears. “When I heard that your brother had died, it pained me to know that you were all alone on the other side of the known world. As your last living relative, I had the purpose of helping counsel you to restore House Targaryen. I lived long enough to find you on Dragonstone and to sail to King’s Landing, and long as I’m able to counsel, I shall.”

__________________________________

The next morning, Daenerys woke with nerves in her stomach. House Martell had arrived before dawn and stayed at one of Lord Baelish’s brothels in the city. Ser Barristan wanted to escort them personally to the Great Hall, but Daenerys wished to go about this differently. There was a lot of history between House Targaryen and Dorne, many battles, many friendships, more battles, and more friendships. Now, she didn’t know where Dorne stood. 

Daenerys sent Missandei along with Ser Barristan to the brothel while she waited in the gardens with Daario. She didn’t want to greet Prince Doran in the Great Hall, which Ser Barristan suggested she’d do. “Show them that House Targaryen reigns once again.” 

“I’m trying to avoid a war with Dorne,” she argued. “I don’t want to take the aggressive approach, especially since my father didn’t offer Princess Elia protection. Instead, he used her as a hostage because he was paranoid of a Dornish betrayal.” 

“Yes, but-”

“My family betrayed theirs, Barristan,” she snapped. “Rhaegar is the reason why they’re dead. He left her and their children for another woman without thinking of the consequences, and my father failed to protect them. For the rest of my life, I will have to fix the mistakes my family made.” 

Ser Barristan walked through the garden, a couple strolling behind him. Daenerys stood as the couple stepped forward. “Prince Oberyn Martell and his paramour, Ellaria Sand.” 

Confusion etched across her brows as to why Prince Oberyn had come instead of his oldest brother, Prince Doran. “Forgive me, My Prince, your presence is a welcomed one, but unexpected.” 

“My brother’s health prevents him from leaving Dorne,” Prince Oberyn explained. He had a thick Dornish accent that was pleasant on the ears. He was handsome with his dark features. He was tall, slender, and even in his slightest movements, they were graceful. He had a saturnine face with thin eyebrows, a sharp nose, and eyes so dark they looked black. His shiny hair was long, brushing the collar of his golden tunic, and hung messily. Oberyn’s hair was just as dark as his eyes, but in the light, Daenerys could see flashes of silver displaying his age. 

Daenerys's eyes left Oberyn and landed on Ellaria, who was an attractive and exotic-looking woman. Her hair black and long, its curls landing just mid-back of her silky red dress. 

“After nearly twenty years, the dragons find their way back to King’s Landing,” Prince Oberyn stated. “I don’t know whether to celebrate in the streets or be afraid.” 

Daenerys smiled, noticing that Ellaria was eyeing Daario with a look that told her she was interested in him. She sought the opportunity out, not wanting to have a public conversation. “Prince Oberyn, would you care to escort me around the gardens?” 

The pair walked through the gardens, distantly escorted by Daario and Ellaria. Daenerys wanted to speak more privately with the one people called Viper. “I wanted to speak with you more intimately.”

“Dorne holds no ill will against House Targaryen, Your Grace,” Prince Oberyn stated. “I don’t blame a child for the mistakes her oldest brother and father made. For many years, I have thought about every way to seek revenge on both House Baratheon and Lannister for their part in murdering my sister and her children, and now that they are dead, I feel like I’ve failed my sister’s honor.” 

“I understand,” she replied. “When I learned of their deaths, a part of me wished it was me that brought the darkness. I wanted each and everyone to feel the pain they had caused Viserys and me, but I knew that would not bring them back.”

“I was impressed each time the poets shared stories of how dragons conquered the city Meereen and freed slaves with a rider with hair so pale as if the moon had kissed her,” Prince Oberyn stated with admiration. “Do you keep them in the pits?” 

“They only sleep there,” Daenerys replied. “They are my children, and I do not lock them away.” As if the dragons knew their mother was talking about them, the three of them flew past the Red Keep, the flapping of their wings sounding like thunder. Prince Oberyn nearly fell to the ground by the sight of them. “The biggest one is named Drogon after my dead husband. The cream-colored is named Viserion, after my brother Viserys, and the green-colored is named Rhaegal.” 

Prince Oberyn silently stared at the sky. “My sister loved him,” he stated. “Gave him an heir and a daughter. Yet, he left her for another woman. Do you know what they did to her? Tywin Lannister ordered Gregor Clegane to murder my sister and her children. The young Prince was just a babe when the Mountain took him from his crib and smashed him against the wall. My nephew’s brains and blood still upon his hands as he raped my sister and split her nearly in two.” 

Daenerys felt her stomach quiver with sickness. Who could be so horrible and order the murders of innocent women and children? Babies that are still nursing from their mothers’ breasts. 

“I wonder what made the Stark girl so interesting for Rhaegar to leave his wife and children? Was it her beauty? Or was it the prophecy he was obsessed with?” The Prince Who Was Promised. “Either way, we will never know.” Prince Oberyn shared a sensual look with his paramour, who was admiring Daario’s sword. “My daughters will arrive the day before your coronation as well as Princess Arianne Martell and Prince Trystane, my niece and nephew.” 

“I’m looking forward to meeting them,” Daenerys smiled. 

“It seems as if Ellaria is fond of your friend,” Oberyn said, looking over at Daario. She could see that Daario was blushing. “If he is yours, forgive her, Your Grace.”

“Daario is free to choose who he spends his nights with,” she replied, watching the pair of paramours. “Does it not make you jealous of watching your lover want another man?” 

“Let’s just say, we Dornish people have a rather large appetite when it comes to sex.” 

_______________________________________

The small council room was a lavish one. One wall hosted massive open windows that let in the fresh sea air. Four large white columns stood on opposite ends of the room, a dragon’s head etched onto each top. A large fireplace sat behind the King’s chair that gave light and warmth to the room. There were sheer red curtains to help block out the sun’s harsh rays, with heavier curtains pulled back ready to protect against any severe weather that threatened to spoil the room. 

In the middle of the room sat a large, deep brown mahogany table with eight Chippendale chairs wrapped out its side, saved for the Queen seated with the ninth at the head. The chairs were mahogany, too, with red and golden cushions glued to the back and seat to make seating comfortable for their meetings. Daenerys made a quick reminder to ask for a pillow to be brought to the Iron Throne. 

Daenerys stood by the open window that overlooked the sea. The salt from the ocean mixed with the wildflowers that sat on the table masked the city’s smell below. SheFrom above, she could see the garden named from above Myrcella’s garden, filled with red roses and dark ivory vines. Daenerys could be bitter and change the name, but it was just a garden, and soon it will be filled with lemon trees. 

A knock at the door interrupted her gaze, and she turned to see Lady Olenna Tyrell enter. “Your Grace,” the older woman greeted Daenerys. 

“Lady Olenna,” Daenerys nodded. “Thank you for meeting me in the small council room. I find the throne is uncomfortable.” 

Daenerys studied her ally; she was the size of a small child and walked with a jeweled cane. She wore a green veil with roses sewn into, and whatever skin peeked through the veil displayed deep wrinkles. “I suppose you made me climb all these steps to make me feel like a valued ally instead of leading me into the Great Hall. I suppose that’s the old knight’s doing?” 

“He proposed against it,” Daenerys replied. 

“Good girl,” Lady Olenna said. “You want to live to my old age? Stop listening to men. You are a young girl, but you’re surrounded by men who think they know everything. They’ll see you as what you are, a young Queen, and they’ll sink their teeth into you with their ideas and betrothals, till they’ve twisted and made you a Queen without her own voice.” 

Daenerys sat there, surprised by her honesty, but valued it. Lady Olenna has only been the one who wasn’t afraid to speak her mind, and maybe that’s why Daenerys suddenly proposed the idea. “I want to anoint you as my Master of Laws,” she said. “I’ve barely known you, and you’ve spoken more truth than any of my advisors. I respect your honesty, and I need someone like you to help serve the Realms of Men.” 

Lady Olenna leaned back in her chair as she studied Daenerys. “You remind me of my granddaughter, Margaery. I can see the same fiery spirit you both share. I think you two would be good friends, and that’s very rare to have these days.” 

___________________________________

When a raven was sent from Lord Robb Stark announcing their soon arrival, Daenerys took Ser Barriston’s advice this time. She sat upon the Iron Throne, waiting for their arrival, nerves filling her stomach. With House Martell and Tyrell, it had been easy for her, but with House, Stark Daenerys didn’t know how this would go. Her father had killed their grandfather and uncle, yet the Lannisters, a common enemy, beheaded their father. 

The door opened, and Ser Barristan quickly strolled in with an angry look on his face. “My Queen,” he bowed. “The Starks have arrived, but with company.”

“What company?” she spoke, hearing her nervousness. 

“Melisandre and Ser Jorah.”

Daenerys felt her heart drop in her stomach at hearing Jorah’s name. Why was he here? She had banished him to the wall. Now, she had to see his face one again. 

“What would you like me to do, Your Grace?” 

“If Melisandre travels with the Starks, then she is their guest,” Daenerys replied. 

“And Ser Jorah? Shall I have him sent to the pit?” he asked. 

“No,” Daenerys snapped. “Take him to the cells for right now. I will deal with him later.” 

Ser Barristan left, and shortly after, the Great Hall’s doors opened, revealing a group of five entering the room. Daenerys watched as they took in the sight of Balerion’s skull that hung from the ceiling until their gaze landed in her direction. Lord Robb was a handsome man, maybe a little older than herself. He had a stocky build, tall, with red-brown hair laid in curls on top of his head. He wore a thick, fur surcoat over his armor despite the summer heat, whereas the young woman beside him wore a revealing summer dress that Daenerys recognized as House Tyrell colors. 

The young woman, which Daenerys knew was Margaery, Lady Olenna’s granddaughter, was a beautiful one. She at Robb’s shoulder, her brown hair curling underneath her breast. Margaery had a womanly figure, slender and pale with porcelain-like skin. 

As the group grew closer, Daenerys spotted one of the most striking men she’d ever seen. He wore all black from his surcoat to his armor. He was tall like Lord Robb, a little taller even with a lean build. His dark curls hung just at the collar of his gambeson, and a large white direwolf stood at the height of his knees. Beside him was a younger girl that looked identical to the handsome man. Though her hair was cut that of a boy’s, there was no denying that she was a girl of importance. 

“You stand in the presence of Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, the Unburnt, the Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons,” Missandei spoke, her voice confident as it rang through the Great Hall. 

An older man stepped forward; he wore a dirty surcoat and a sour look. “This is Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell and his wife, Margaery of the House Tyrell, Lady of Winterfell. This is Robb’s half-brother, Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, and their youngest sister, Lady Arya Stark.” 

“And you are?” Daenerys asked the older man. 

“Apologies. I’m Ser Davos Seaworth, Your Grace,” he answered before turning to Melisandre, who Daenerys already knew. “This is-” 

“I didn’t expect to meet you again, Melisandre,” Daenerys spoke, cutting off his introduction. 

Melisandre stepped forward, displaying her revealing crimson red dress that made her hair. “I knew our paths would cross again,” The Red Priestess replied. 

A chill ran up Daenerys’s spine before turning her attention back to her guests. “Thank you for traveling all this way. I hope the winds were kind on your journey?” 

“They were, thank you, Your Grace,” Robb bowed his head. His voice was boyish, and his accent thick. 

“I’m hoping that your arrival means that House Stark has chosen not to break faith with House Targaryen?” If they had traveled this way, what other reason would it be? If they wanted to break faith, they could’ve sent a raven declaring they already had a King. 

“With all due respect, Your Grace, but my men think I’m a fool coming here. They think I’ve signed my death wish to bend the knee to the Mad King’s daughter.” 

Annoyance flooded Daenerys at his words, but she kept her polite appearance. How many times would she have to hear people refer to her as just the Mad King’s daughter and not Daenerys Stormborn? “My Lord, do you believe we grow to become our parents?” she asked him. 

“I think we come to share similar traits,” Robb spoke honestly. “The ones that they teach us.”

“My father didn’t get the opportunity,” she replied. “It was my brother, Viserys, who taught me most that I know. He was the one who told me stories about our father, the magnificent and horror ones. I do not share the same fascination my father had for torture or wildfire. I come to understand what my father was and what he did, and though he is my father, and I am his seed, I find his actions cruel and distasteful.” 

Daenerys felt herself climb to her feet, annoyance growing with each step she took as she climbed down from her throne. “I am not my father, no more than yours, Ned Stark. I am Daenerys Stormborn, First of Her Name, and you are Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell.” 

“The North will not accept a Targaryen as their Queen, not after what your father has done to my grandfather and uncle. Not after so many lives were slain at the Battle of the Trident,” Robb argued. 

“If I remember correctly, a lot of Targaryen bannerman lives were slain,” Daenerys snapped. 

Jon cleared his throat, disrupting the tense moment between Daenerys and Robb. She watched as Robb shared a glance with his brother, before turning back to Daenerys looking defeated. “I was chosen by my men to protect the North against our enemies, and that’s what I’m doing by coming here and asking for your help.” 

Daenerys’ eyebrows rose in shock. “Help? What do you need my help for? Is there a war brewing in the north that I’m not aware of?” She turned her attention to Lord Varys. 

“My spies have not told me of anything,” Lord Varys quickly replied. “If there is another war, it must be fairly new, Your Grace.” 

Melisandre stepped forward, which caused her Dothraki guards to move forward, protecting their Khaleesi. “There is a war that is coming,” Melisandre spoke, her voice dark and mesmerizing. When she spoke again, it was in High Valyrian. “I’ve seen you fighting in the flames against those who bring the night with them. They are called the Others, and they are coming, Your Grace. Ask Jon Snow about them. He’s seen them and fought against them.” 

Daenerys looked at Jon, running her eyes up and down his body. “You need my help in defeating the Others? I’ve not heard of such men. What makes them different?” 

“They are not men, Your Grace,” Jon answered. “They are dead, and they host an army larger than the capacity of the North.” 

“The dead?” Did he take her as a fool? 

“I didn’t believe it either, Your Grace. Not until I saw them for myself and fought against them. The Others can resurrect the men, women, children, and creatures they have slain. I’ve seen them do it. They don't care who they kill. It’s just another body for their army,” Jon explained. He spoke with passion and fear, and something inside of her told her he was telling the truth. 

“The North grows colder each day,” Robb spoke. “I’m afraid in a year or two; the dead will be upon us.” 

“What’s happened to the wall? I thought it was supposed to protect the Realms of Men against such enemies?” Ser Barristan asked. “You’re Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. That’s your sole purpose! To guard the Realms of Men!” 

“We do not know the magic the Others hold!” Jon snapped. “If they can resurrect men, women, children, and creatures for their armies-”

“They might be able to destroy the wall,” Daenerys finished Jon’s sentence. 

_____________________________________________________

“You do not seriously believe them?” Ser Barristan asked. “The army of the dead?” 

“I have to agree with Ser Barristan,” Lord Varys spoke. “It’s highly doubtful that an army of dead people poses a great threat to the realm.” 

“I don’t see why it’s not believable,” Aemon spoke, his voice shaky. Daenerys and her council gathered around the mahogany table, debating the Stark’s story’s falsity. “We’ve heard the story of the long night.” Everyone grew silent as they turned their attention to him. “It was long before Aegon’s Conquest when a terrible darkness fell across the Known World during a great winter.” 

“Yes, and it lasted a generation,” Ser Barristan added. 

Aemon ignored the knight as he continued his story. “The Others emerged from the Land of Always Winter before the wall ever existed. They wielded razor-thin swords of ice and raised wights to fight the living. The First Men fought alongside the Children of the Forest to defeat the wights but were driven further south. It was only then they discovered that weapons built of dragonglass could only defeat the demons. Together, along with the first members of the Night’s Watch, drove the Others back in the Battle for the Dawn. Legends say that Bran the Builder recruited giants to help construct the wall and sealed it with the Children of the Forest’s magic.” 

“That's an old story,” Lord Varys dismissed. 

Daenerys turned so quickly on Lord Varys. “Who are you to say what is real and what isn’t, Lord Varys?” she snapped. “I’ve seen blood magic first hand as I birthed my dragons from fire. I sat in the fire that burned my dead husband’s body, and I came out unburnt. Do you not believe that, My Lord?” 

“No, Your Grace,” he replied. 

“Then why are you so quick to dismiss it?” Daenerys didn’t wait for an answer as she stood from her chair. “Everyone leave, except for you, my dear uncle.” She waited until everyone was gone until she sat again. “You spent half your life at Castle Black. Have you ever seen the Others?” 

“I helped heal a wounded man who fought against a wight,” he replied. “I’ve sat and listened to hundreds of men, but when Jon Snow told me first hand of his experience, I did not doubt that he was telling me the truth.” Daenerys sighed as she leaned back in her chair. “What is it, my child?” 

“I just feel like all of this is too easy,” she replied. “The defeat against Stannis, the allegiance of the Houses I feared, would cost me the most trouble. It all seems like it’s too good to be true.” 

“Most of your life, you lived halfway across the world, experiencing more than you should’ve at your age. You’ve experienced enough hurt that the good seems undeserving, but you are, Daenerys Stormborn, are deserving of everything you’ve fought for.” 

Daenerys stood and called for Aemon’s chair. “Wait,” he stopped her. “Bring me to the garden and call for Jon Snow. We have a lot to catch up on. Maybe you can join us,” Aemon smiled. “I think you’d enjoy his company when he’s not brooding.”


	10. H O U S E     T A R G A R Y E N

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aemon offers Daenerys advice, while Daenerys makes a tough decision. 
> 
> Wanting to more of the wight walkers, Daenerys invites the Starks to dine with her, before spending alone time with Lord Jon Snow.

Daenerys pushed her great-uncle around the garden until he stopped her. “Here is good enough,” he spoke, waving his hand. “Did you call for Jon Snow?” 

“I did,” Daenerys replied. “He should be around soon enough.” 

She stood next to Aemon as she stared out at Blackwater. It was calm and still, and she could imagine herself as a young girl standing on a balcony in Illyrio Mopatis home in Pentos; feeling as she once did as she was about to be wed off to Drogo; frightened and a little bit out of her element. 

“I used to do that too,” Aemon said, disrupting her thoughts. 

“Do what?” she asked, her attention still at sea. 

“Stare out at Blackwater or any sea really, whenever I was cross about something or when I needed a moment away from my thoughts. I always wondered what lay beyond that horizon. Was it just the end of the world? Did it drop off? Or was there something more?” Aemon reached for her hand, which Daenerys took immediately. “What’s on your mind, muppet?” 

“I am Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” Daenerys began to explain. “Yet, I feel as if I am that young girl in Pentos who did not know herself. Who was afraid of her brother. I have fought and won everything that was taken away from our family, and yet I’ve never felt so alone.” Daenerys knelt beside her great-uncle and brought his hand to rest upon her cheek. “I have you, and I am so grateful my great one, but I thought being here in King’s Landing would-” 

“Nothing can bring them back, my sweet girl,” Aemon interrupted her. “Your mother, your father, and brother, even our ancestors live within you and within your blood, no matter where you are. They always have.” 

“I know,” Daenerys sighed, turning back to face the sea. How many times has she told herself she was the blood of the dragon or Aegon’s seed whenever she felt afraid? Clearing her throat, she quickly changed the subject. “Ser Barristan and Lord Varys are telling me it’s time I sent Daario back to Meereen.” 

“And what do you think?” Aemon asks her. “You don’t seem to happy about it.” 

“Because I know what they’re trying to do. They’re trying to send him back because he’s my … well, Daario’s my paramour.” 

Aemon stayed quiet for a second before commenting. “I would have to agree with them. A man like Daario could ruin future suitors for you to marry.” 

“I do agree with them that it’s time to send Daario away from court,” she said quickly. She didn’t want to talk about marriage. “I need someone I trust to oversee things in Meereen, but I will be sad to see him go. He’s a great fighter, and I respect his opinions.” 

“Well, I’m sure Lord Varys and Ser Barristan will push the idea of you marrying once he leaves.” 

“I don’t see a point in that,” Daenerys stated. “I wouldn’t be able to bear a child for my husband.” 

“And who told you that?” Aemon asked. 

“The witch who murdered my husband.” Aemon hissed angrily, which amused her. He’d always been so kind, and she was beginning to think he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. “When the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. When the seas go dry, and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves. When my womb quickens again, only then will I bear a living child. That is what she told me.” 

“There is old magic in parts of the world, but we Targaryen’s are fertile breeds. Maybe you weren’t meant to bear a Dothraki child. Maybe that wasn’t part of the prophecy you told me about,” Aemon explained. 

“And whose child am I meant to bear, great one?” 

Suddenly, footsteps caught her attention. Looking up, Daenerys could see Lord Jon Snow being escorted towards herself and Aemon. He was still in all black but had ditched his heavy, fur cloak. As Jon walked closer, Daenerys could see how roguishly handsome the wolf was. His jaw sharp, his nose slightly crooked, and his eyes dark as night, but as he stood in front of her, she couldn’t see the resemblance between him and his brother, Robb. 

“Lord Jon Snow,” Daenerys greeted. “I am glad to see that you ditched your furs. I am afraid the heat in King’s Landing is not so kind.” 

“It’ll take some getting used too, Your Grace,” Jon smiled. “If you prefer heat, the North would be more than you could bear.” 

“I’ll remember that,” she smiled. 

After a moment’s pause, Jon cleared his throat. “You wanted to see me?” 

“Not me, but my great-uncle. Aemon’s told me much about you and your time at Castle Black.” 

“Well, I hope it wasn’t too boring,” Jon softly laughed. “Castle Black ain’t up for much entertainment.” 

“Now, I find that hard to believe.” The young duo stared at each other, a moment passing between them. Something in her belly stirred that Daenerys quickly pushed down. “Well, I must get back to my duties.” She leaned down and pecked Aemon’s cheek. “Goodbye, my great-one. Lord Snow.” 

____________________________________

Daenerys entered the small council room. She sat in her seat and looked at the large, empty table. She imagined it full of people she trusted. Yet, there was one face missing, his. 

Ser Jorah Mormont, her bear. The man who had been by her side since her wedding to Drogo. The man who knew all of her fears and secrets. The man she thought would be by her side as she ruled over the Seven Kingdoms, yet, he sat in the black cells as she decided on what to do with him. Daenerys had banished him from the city; to take the black, and yet he returned as a companion to Robb Stark and company. 

She should’ve asked Aemon what he thought about the situation, but she had confided in him so much, she didn’t depend upon anyone else on her council; not even Ser Barristan, whom she admired. It wasn’t fair to her great-uncle, who was beginning to grow weak. Each day, Daenerys could see the life drain from his face, which scared her. What would she do without him? Without the last of her flesh and blood? 

A knock on the door startled her. “Enter,” she called, hearing the fear in her voice. 

Ser Barristan entered the room with three long strides, his hand resting against the hilt of his massive sword. “You wanted to see me, Your Grace?” he asked with a bow. 

“Yes. I want to know your opinion on Ser Jorah.” 

“Ser Jorah is a great warrior,” Ser Barristan sighed. “One of the best I’ve seen. But, can I speak freely, Your Grace?” 

Daenerys nodded but remained quiet. “I know he’s betrayed you, but I’ve never seen such a man devoted to you as he is. When we were on the road to Meereen, I asked him if he believed in you. He looked at you as if you were the sun during the darkest day. I don’t know what made him see something in you that caused him to change loyalties, but I know that man would take a sword through the heart for you, My Queen.”

Daenerys looked away, feeling a mix of emotions swirl in her stomach. “Would I be a fool if I forgave him?” Daenerys asked. “Or a fool if I banished him again?” 

“No,” Ser Barristan reassured her. “No one would blame you if you banished him again. But, if you decided to forgive Ser Jorah, I’m sure his reputation wouldn’t sit well among the court.” 

“We all have our reputations, Ser Barristan,” she huffed. “I will always be known as the Mad King’s daughter. My actions will always be watched closely by those among my council and across the world. One false move and people will think that I’m riddled with the madness that took my father.”

“I didn’t mean to offend-“ 

“And doesn’t help that I wasn’t born with a cock. Every day I have to prove that I am just as strong as every Targaryen male, but in fact, I want to be just as strong as Visenya and Rhaenys. Us women are a lot smarter than any man that sits in those great houses. We are more than just a broodmare or something warm they can spill their seed in.” 

Ser Barristan stayed quiet, allowing Daenerys a moment to control her anger. She wasn’t angry with him; honestly, she was tired of the judgments. “Forgive me, Ser Barristan; I am not angry with you.” 

“It’s alright, Your Grace.” 

“Fetch Ser Jorah from the black cells. I would like to speak to him.” 

__________________

Daenerys was hiding behind a sheer curtain on the large, wrapping balcony of the small council room. She wanted to remain hidden as Jorah entered the room. She tried to keep a barrier between him because the hurt of his betrayal stung deeper than any cut she'd ever taken. 

The door opened, and Ser Jorah walked in. He had only stayed in the Black Cells for a night, but it had still taken its toll on his appearance. His tan face was now ridden of any color, and she could smell the wetness and something foul that seeped from his clothing. His eyes searched for her but could not find her, yet she wasn’t entirely hidden. 

Jorah stepped closer to the table and ran his hands over the fine wood before pulling out a chair and sitting, waiting. Suddenly, a breeze flowed through the room, lifting the curtain that hid her. “Khaleesi,” Jorah gasped, standing to bow. Daenerys kept her distance from him, studying him. Everything she wanted to say, all of her courage left with the breeze. “Khaleesi,” Jorah broke the silence. “I’m sorry.” 

“I banished you,” Daenerys began. “I didn’t want you killed, nor did I want to see you again. Yet, here you stand before me, apologizing for betraying me.” Jorah lowered his head in shame. “You did not apologize to me when I banished you. You stood there listing all the things you have done for me, but I wonder, was it out of love or duty?” 

“Both, Khaleesi,” he replied. “I didn’t know what to expect when I met you in Pentos. But, there you were sitting beside a Dothraki Warlord like a frightened child. I rode beside you and watched you take abuse from Viserys until you had enough, but I also watched you walk into the fire and come out unburnt with three baby dragons. You are unlike any other woman I’ve ever met, Daenerys, and I proudly serve you because I believe in you.”

“And because you love me?” 

“Yes,” he admitted. “I do love you.” 

Daenerys sat down, feeling deflated. “I told you before that I couldn’t rule the Seven Kingdoms without you by my side, and I still mean it, but if you ever betray me again, I will feed you to my dragons.” Despite the anger and hurt she felt, she didn’t want to send Jorah away. Daenerys knew despite his previous betrayal that he would die protecting her now. He saw something in her that she struggled to find herself, and truth be told; Jorah knew her better than anyone, including Missandei. 

____________________________________________

The Red Keep was full of allies of House Targaryen. House Martell, House Tyrell, and now House Stark. Speaking with Lord Varys, he suggested that she dine with all of them in the banquet hall and listen to the Starks’ stories about the others. 

“I don’t see that it wouldn’t hurt any,” Lord Varys said. “At least humor them and their Northern ghost stories.” 

“I am curious,” Daenerys replied. 

“They’re not Northern ghost stories,” Ser Jorah argued. 

“Whatever they are,” Daenerys pushed her way into the argument. “The Starks believe it. I see the fear in their face. It’s enough to make one curious about it.” Ser Barristan huffed in annoyance, which Daenerys ignored. “Send for the Starks to dine with me. I’m looking forward to hearing their stories about the others.” 

Daenerys called the Starks to the Tower of the Hand, as she wanted her great-uncle Aemon to join them for supper. She also invited Ser Barristan for his skepticism and Ser Jorah as he was a Northerner.   
“I expect you to treat my guests with respect, Ser Barristan,” Daenerys said. “I will not allow them to hear any of your skepticism.” 

“You don’t believe them?” Aemon asked the old-night. 

“It’s hard to believe something that existed hundreds of years ago, Maester,” Ser Barristan replied. 

“When you live as long as I have, you’ll stop questioning things that you don’t understand.” 

Daenerys could feel Arya’s eyes on her throughout dinner or looking out the window, hoping to spot the three dragons. Daenerys remembered earlier Ser Jorah tells her that the young Stark girl had a fascination with House Targaryen, especially the warrior women and their dragons. 

“Lady Arya,” Daenerys said, turning the attention onto the young girl. “Ser Jorah tells me that you have an interest in House Targaryen, especially Visenya Targaryen?” 

“That’s all she’s talked about since she could talk when she was younger,” Jon said, laughing at the memory. “I want to be as strong as Visenya! I want to wield a sword like hers!” 

“Visenya Targaryen was a great warrior!” Arya explained excitedly. “She had a Valyrian sword called Dark Sister!” 

“She did,” Daenerys replied. “Though, I’m afraid that the fine steel is lost forever.”

“Do you have a sword-like Dark Sister?” The young Stark girl asked Daenerys. 

“Arya!” Robb scolded his youngest sister. “Forgive her for her terrible manners, Your Grace.” 

“It’s alright,” Daenerys reassured Robb. Honestly, she found Arya’s fascination amusing. “I don’t. Unfortunately, the truth is I don’t know how to wield a sword.” 

“But you’re Aegon the Conqueror reborn!” Arya gasped, earning a sharp look from Robb. “Or that’s what I’ve heard.” 

“I don’t like the feel of a sword,” Lady Margaery added her opinion. “Too heavy, and I don’t imagine trying to make a hobby out of it. Needling is a much better hobby?” 

“I already have a needle,” Arya said, slumping back in her chair with a deep scowl on her face. Daenerys noticed that Jon was now smiling at the young girl. Was there some sort of inside joke between the two regarding a needle? 

“I think every Lady Arya is right,” Daenerys said. “I think a Queen should learn how to defend herself.”

“Isn’t that what the Queensguard is for?” Lady Margaery asked, confused. 

“Aegon had guards,” Arya educated the woman. “Yet, Visenya was quick enough to slash Aegon’s cheek with Dark Sister before the guards could react. So, the Queen or Kingsguard can not always be dependable.”

“I think Lady Arya might be onto something,” Maester Aemon said excitedly. “Maybe Jon Snow could teach you, Your Grace. He’s quite a skilled swordsman.” 

“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” Ser Jorah replied on a huff. “Ser Barristan, Grey Worm, and I will always be around to protect you.”

Daenerys couldn’t help but toy with the idea of her standing with a massive sword in her hand while Jon wore light armor, both play fighting in the garden as if they were children. She was sure that Jon would be a distraction, so maybe Ser Jorah or Grey Worm could teach her. 

The cries of Daenerys’s dragons pierced the sky, and Arya ran to the balcony. “I still haven’t seen your dragons,” she whined. 

“They come and go as they please,” Daenerys replied. “If they are not resting in the dragon pit, then they are hunting in the grasslands or by the sea.” 

“Do you think I could meet them?” Arya said, her voice filling with excitement and hope. 

“No!” Robb snapped. 

“But-”

“I said no, Arya!” 

“That’s not fair! I-” 

“Enough!” Robb stood, smacking the table, causing the silverware to rattle, startling everyone.   
“One more word, and I’ll send you back off to Winterfell! Understood?” 

Daenerys paused, staring at the young Stark girl who was on the verge of tears. 

“I hate you!” Arya shouted, running from the room. 

Things were awkward for a bit, as the tension still lingered in the air. Daenerys could understand Robb’s wishes of keeping Arya safe. Her dragons were unpredictable, snapping at one another and sometimes their mother. 

“I think you should go after her,” Jon said. 

“Arya’s just being dramatic,” Robb replied. “She’ll get over it by morning.”

“No, she won’t. You know how much she admires dragons, and you just told her that she couldn't meet the one thing she always wanted too.” 

“Then why don’t you go after her?” Robb growled, annoyed with Jon. 

“I’m not the one who crushed her spirits,” Jon replied, annoyance evident in his tone. 

“I’ll go,” Lady Margaery said, standing. “Arya might not wish to speak to you. She is a young and impressionable girl. I know how tricky they can be.” 

“My dragons aren’t as tamed as your direwolves,” Daenerys said. “Tell Lady Arya that I’ll fly my dragons over the Red Keep tomorrow so that she can see them.” 

“That’s kind of you, Your Grace,” Robb nodded, approving of the idea. “I guess I was a bit harsh with her.”

“I’m sure if she just caught sight of them, all things will be forgiven.” Daenerys smiled, hopefully.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Robb stood, bowing towards Daenerys. Lady Margaery stood next, then Jon, ready to take their leave for the night. 

“I was hoping that Lord Snow could tell me more of his stories about the others,” Daenerys said, standing up.

“Of course, Your Grace,” Jon said, surprised. 

“Actually,” Maester Aemon spoke. “I think I’m going to retire to my chambers too. I’m a bit chilly.” 

“I’ll send for some hot water to your room,” Daenerys said. “Ser Jorah, escort Aemon to his chamber.” Aemon reached for Daenerys’s hand, which she gladly took. “Send for me when you wake.” 

“Goodnight, my dear,” Aemon squeezed her hand. “Goodnight, Jon.”

Daenerys waited until Ser Jorah and Aemon left the room before turning to face Jon, who stood there quietly. “Walk with me around the garden? It’s a beautiful night, and I don’t mind the cool breeze.” 

_______________________________

“I have to admit that I’m a bit surprised that you wish to learn more about the others,” Jon stated as he strolled next to Daenerys. “I didn’t think you believed me.” 

“I saw the fear on your face, and I knew that no lie could put that fear there,” Daenerys replied. “Do you know how these creatures were made?” 

“Magic?” Jon shrugged his shoulders in a guess. “Do you believe in magic, Your Grace?” 

“How can I not?” she said. “I walked into the flames that burned my dead husband, and I came out unharmed with three baby dragons. The world hadn’t seen a dragon in over three hundred years until my children were born.” Jon stopped, surprised. “I am not sure why fire does not harm me. Perhaps, I will never understand.”

They continued to walk as Jon told her the chilling story of Hardhome. She felt herself wrap her arms around her torso as some sort of protection from the horror of Jon’s story. “However, these creatures were created, whether, by magic or man, there must be a way to destroy them!” 

“Valyrian steel can kill them, but so can dragonglass,” Jon explained. 

“Dragonglass? How do you know for certain?” she asked. 

“Sam. He killed one with a dragonglass dagger, but I’m not sure where we can exactly find an abundance of the stuff. I’m hoping Sam travels to Oldtown and discovers the information.” 

Daenerys stopped with Jon following. “I can see if Aemon might know where we can get an abundance of dragonglass.” 

“That’s very kind, Your Grace,” Jon smiled affectionately. They stared at each other, and once again, Daenerys’s stomach began to flutter. 

Jon cleared his throat before taking a step back, putting distance between them. “I should retire for the night,” he said, his voice thick. 

“Yes,” Daenerys frowned. “It is a bit late.” 

“Goodnight, Your Grace.” Jon bowed before walking away. 

Daenerys watched him, feeling sad for some reason before she remembered their earlier conversation. “Lord Snow!” She waited until he turned before continuing. “May I expect you tomorrow for a sword lesson?” 

Jon blinked and then blinked again. “I didn’t think you were serious about that, Your Grace.” 

“And why wouldn’t I be?” she said, walking towards him. “My dragons are not always with me, and there might be a moment when my Queensguard cannot protect me. Why shouldn’t I learn how to defend myself?” 

“Wouldn’t you be comfortable with Ser Jorah or another person?” 

“I’m afraid that my Queensguard might be too easy on me,” she explained. “I don’t think they are fond of the idea. But, you, I feel, would teach me respectfully and truthfully.” 

Jon frowned, and Daenerys was worried that he might deny her. Sure, she could’ve asked Ser Jorah or Barristan, even Grey Worm, but she wanted to spend more time with Jon. 

“If that is what you wish, Your Grace,” he finally said. 

“Good,” Daenerys smiled, pleased with herself. “Goodnight, Lord Snow. I shall see you tomorrow for our lesson!”


	11. H O U S E      T A R G A R Y E N

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys makes a secret with Arya and is crowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

Daenerys woke before the sun rose that morning, the morning of her coronation. Missandei, her handmaiden and friend, slept beside her as sometimes they platonically shared a bed. Stretching, she quietly tiptoed to the open curtain the led to her balcony that overlooked the bay. Already, the early morning humidity was high, spreading quickly across her skin and heating her. 

Leaning against the stone rail, Daenerys pushed her loose hair back from her face as she watched the tide splash among the shore. It was one of her favorite sounds as it always calmed her, but as she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, allowing the salty air to fill her senses, not even that could stop her mind from racing. 

Today and for the rest of the week, King’s Landing would be celebrating Daenerys' coronation. Still, tonight her coronation would bring suitors from all over the world, hoping to build a successful alliance through marriage. 

“You are young, Your Grace,” Lord Varys stated. “House Targaryen will flourish once again with a successful marriage alliance.” 

Daenerys sat and humored them, but they didn’t know about the curse the witch had put upon her; she would bear no child. She knew eventually that she would have to marry, but not this soon. 

In the company of several soldiers, she walked through a quiet King’s Landing to Dragonpit, where her three children lay sleeping. The dragons stirred, feeling their mother’s presence. “Goodmorning, my sweet children,” Daenerys confronted the figure behind the decaying steps when she spotted the young Stark girl. 

“I thought your brother forbid you?” Daenerys asked, a hint of amusement ringing in her tone. 

“He did, but I had to see them in person, Your Grace,” Arya boldly admitted. 

Trying to hid her smile, Daenerys turned towards her sleeping dragons. “Well, what do you think about them?” 

“They’re beautiful!” Arya squealed. “What are their names?” 

“The black one is named Drogon after my dead husband. The green is named Rhaegal, and the blue is Viserion, after my brothers.” 

“I thought most of the Targaryen dragons were named after the Gods of Old Valryia?” 

“They were until Aegon the Conqueror converted to the Faith of the Seven,” Daenerys. “I’m impressed, Lady Arya.” 

“I told you dragons were my favorite. May I touch them?” 

Daenerys looked at her dragons, curled up like cats. They had hunted and seemed to have settled into a deep sleep. “Only if you do as I say. Understand?” 

Arya nodded, and the two women slowly walked towards Drogon, who was the closest of the three. The black dragon lifted his head, giving his mother and Arya a quick look before settling back down, his massive head resting on his giant paws. Daenerys had grabbed Arya and pulled her behind her body, sheltering the young girl just if something were to happen. 

As Drogon fell back asleep, Daenerys stepped forward and began stroking the dragon’s nose, earning a purr of satisfaction. Only then, when Daenerys felt it was safe, she allowed Arya to approach. “Slowly now and gently.” With shaking hands, the young Stark girl placed her hands upon the dragon. “Well? Is it what you expected?” 

“He’s hard as stone, but I didn’t expect him to feel so hot. It’s like I can feel the fire brewing inside of him!” Arya stated. Daenerys laughed as she fondly watched the young Stark girl examine her dragon further. “You promise you won’t tell Robb about this?” 

“This will be our secret,” Daenerys promised. 

_____________________________________________

Daenerys stood in the garden next to some wooden dummies and swords waiting for her lesson. Her coronation was just in a few hours, and Ser Jorah had pressed for her to postpone her course with Lord Snow, but Daenerys was stubborn and kept her word. 

“Your Grace,” Lord Snow greeted Daenerys as he walked into the garden. The Lord Commander had dressed casually in a leather gambeson; his shoulder-length hair pulled back into a half-knot. Luckily, Daenerys had dressed casually for the lesson, too, with her riding breeches over a loose-fitting gown. “I’m surprised you that you have time for a lesson today!” 

“It’s only half-past ten, Lord Snow,” Daenerys lightly teased. As Jon approached, he took in the wooden swords and dummies. “Ser Barristan has provided us with everything we need.” 

“Perfect,” Jon replied, stepping past her to pick up a wooden sword and handing it to her. “Today, I think we should just stick to practicing how to hold a sword and how to swing one properly.” 

“I know how to grip a sword,” Daenerys huffed, showing him. Jon laughed, embarrassing her. “If I wanted to be laughed at, I’d be a jester, not a Queen, Lord Snow.” 

Jon frowned at her tone. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Your Grace,” he apologized. 

Daenerys took a deep breath, feeling Jon’s eyes upon her. “Forgive me. I have a lot on my mind.” 

Jon softly smiled before holding out his hands. “May I?” he asked. 

Daenerys nodded, waiting for instructions. Jon took a moment to stare at Daenerys before walking behind her. “What are you doing?” she asked him. 

“It’s easier if I help you from this side,” he explained. “If that’s alright with you, Your Grace?” 

Over her shoulder, she looked at Jon, who was so close that Daenerys could smell the sweet willow bark from logs that burned in his chamber fire. Nodding, Jon wrapped his arms around her, placing his hands over hers on the wooden sword. Guiding Daenerys’s dominant hand underneath the cross-guard, he adjusted the other hand to rest underneath her dominant. 

As Jon’s hands tightened over hers, she could feel the roughness of his calluses that littered the palm of his hand. Daenerys could always tell the story of someone by their hands. Viserys’s hands were soft as hers used to be before the years of saddling a horse. Khal Drogo’s were rough, his veins harshly sticking out, and often bleeding. She hated the way they felt against her body when he took her. 

“You don’t want your hand to be resting over the pommel. Your hands should be resting on the grip, with your dominant being the first. 

“Why is that?” she asked, a little breathless, pulling herself from her thoughts. 

“The pommel helps support the weight that the steel carries,” Jon explained. “If you grip the sword over the pommel, then the weight isn’t carried evenly, and you could lose your grip.” 

Daenerys tried to focus on what Jon was saying but almost found the task impossible. His body engulfed hers as he pulled back the wooden sword to her shoulder. “When I tell you to, we’re going to swing the sword directly in front of you. Remember to grip firmly and never let go, alright?” 

Nodding, Daenerys took a deep breath and swung the sword in front of her, slicing through the air. “That’s not so bad!” she smiled, pleased with herself. 

“You think so?” Jon laughed, stepping back. “Try it yourself then.” 

Daenerys felt the confidence leave her body. “What?” She placed the wooden sword at her shoulder, ready to swing before Jon stopped her. “Am I doing something wrong?” 

“No,” he reassured her. “It’s your posture.” Jon stepped in front of her and placed his large hands upon her waist. Daenerys froze as he positioned her correctly. “Place your weight on your back leg, and bend your front. In battle, it doesn’t matter about posture when fighting for your life, but for training purposes, it’s important.” 

As Jon stepped back, Daenerys let go of the breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “Okay, try it again,” he ordered. Daenerys brought the wooden sword to her shoulder once more and swung, earning praise from Jon. 

Over the next couple of hours, Daenerys spent her time with Jon’s hands on her body, correcting her grip when it slipped or readjusting her posture when she stepped from the correct form. By the end of their lesson, her arms felt as if they were going to fall off. 

“You remind me of my sister, Arya,” Jon said as he placed the wooden swords against the dummies. 

“How so?” Daenerys asked, rubbing at her sore muscles. 

“Your determination. Growing up, Arya always was interested in learning how to shoot a bow and wield a sword. My father and Lady Catelyn had tried to stop her so many times, even threatened to send her away, but she never stopped practicing. She even begged Robb and me to teach her. You could never deny her anything.” Jon laughed fondly, which made Daenerys smile. 

“I’m surprised she didn’t want to join us!” 

“Oh, she did, but I told her no.” 

The two-headed back into the castle as they talked more about Jon’s family. He spoke fondly of his siblings, Daenerys listening with a smile and a little jealousy. “What about you, Your Grace? Do you have any funny stories from your childhood?” 

“My childhood isn’t one that is worth sharing,” Daenerys answered honestly. “I was terrified of my brother, Viserys, until his death. Some would say he was half-mad already at the age of two-and-twenty, but he was just a boy when we were exiled to Braavos.” 

“Do you think he was mad?” Jon asked. 

“No,” Daenerys replied. “I think he was a broken man after selling the last of our possessions, including our mother’s crown. Would you be?” 

“I never knew my mother,” Jon replied, surprising Daenerys. She watched as a strange, quickly flashed in his eyes. Clearing his throat, he continued. “But I do know how it feels to be treated unkindly. Lady Catelyn wasn’t shy about her feelings towards me.” 

Daenerys felt saddened by his words but comforted to know that he could relate. “I’m sorry.” And she meant it. 

“It’s in the past now,” Jon brushed off her apology, but Daenerys had a feeling that he hadn’t put the abuse behind him. How could he? Even years later, after Viserys death, she still suffered nightmares from the abuse her brother had caused. 

“I don’t think that kind of pain leaves us,” she stated. 

They came to a still outside of Maego’s Holdfast. Daenerys could feel a sudden shift to overcome them as they were to say goodbye. They had spent the majority of the day together, and yet, Daenerys felt herself not wanting to leave him. 

As they stood outside of Maegor’s Holdfast, a sudden shift came over them. They had spent the majority of the day together, and Daenerys felt herself not wishing to leave him. In a short time, she had only known Jon; she felt her heart-beat wildly for the Northern Lord. 

“I shall see you tomorrow for another lesson?” Jon asked her. 

“Unfortunately, I have to cancel tomorrow’s lesson. My council tells me that I will be far too busy for a defense lesson,” she frowned. 

“Then I shall see you at the feast.” Jon softly smiled at Daenerys and lingered a little too long for an innocent goodbye. “Goodbye, Your Grace.” 

“Lord Snow,” Daenerys stopped him, gently grabbing his elbow. “If we are to continue with these lessons, please call me Daenerys.” 

“As long as you call me, Jon.” 

________________________________

THE CORONATION 

Daenerys’ coronation gown exceeded any expectations she had. The dress was black from head to toe with fabric bound together among the long sleeves' elbows to resemble the effect of dragon scales. A dragon was sewn red into the bodice with two more dragons stitched into the chunky shoulders, their tails curling around the fabric that hugged her neck. Daenerys had designed a black cape with the tail sewn red to make it look like the cape itself was on fire to finish the look. 

Ser Barristan, Jorah, and Grey Worm entered the room, gasping when they got a look at their Queen. “Your Grace,” Ser Jorah greeted her, a soft look in his eyes. 

“You look like the Queen you are,” Ser Barristan stated with pride. “You look like your mother, Rhaella.” 

Daenerys felt her throat tighten from emotion at the old knight’s words. “Thank you, Ser Barristan.” 

The side door of the Great Hall opened, and Lord Varys stuck his head out. “The High Septon is ready, Your Grace.” 

Daenerys nodded and took a deep breath. Walking behind her, she had her most trusted advisors; Grey Worm, Missandei, Ser Barristan, and Ser Jorah. 

The double doors of the Great Hall opened, and Daenerys could see the room was full of Lords and Ladies of great houses, as well as city soldiers showing their support for the Targaryen Queen. Keeping her eyes ahead on the throne, she could see the High Septon waiting.  
Reaching the stairs of the throne, Daenerys lifted her dress with the help of Missandei; she gracefully climbed the stairs and shut out any reservations she had about this moment. Turning around, she faced the room. Daenerys recognized several faces like Lady Olenna Tyrell and Prince Oberyn Martell, who noticeably avoided one another by standing on opposite ends of the room. Standing beside Lady Olenna was a young, red-headed girl draped on the arm of an older dark-haired gentleman. 

Roaming her eyes around the room, she spotted Lord Robb Stark with his wife. Lady Margaery wore a beautiful green and gold dress with roses and thorns sewn into the fine material. Just behind them stood Lord Snow and his youngest sister, Arya, who smiled when Daenerys and her eyes met. 

The High Septon stepped forward carrying a crown Ser Jorah had made for her coronation. The crown itself was dark silver, molded, and worked to form the shape of open dragon wings that would rest comfortably above her ears. In the front, the silver formed into a dragon’s head with rubies for eyes. Daenerys knew that it was a reminder that she was the blood of the dragon. 

“May the Warrior grant her courage, and protect her in these perilous times. May the Smith grant her strength that she might bear this heavy burden, and may the Crone, she that knows the fate of all men, show her the path she must walk and guide her through the dark places that lie ahead. In the light of the Seven, I now proclaim Daenerys Stormborn of the House Targaryen, First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms.” 

As the High Septon placed the crown upon Daenerys’s head, he shouted, “Long may she reign!”


	12. JON III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TWAS THE NIGHT OF FEAST & Jon spends his night cooped up in a library researching dragonglass with the help of Sam and Davos. Exhausted and starved, Jon and Davos decide to sneak their way into the feast to steal some supper and wine. Jon learns a lot about Daenerys which leaves a sour feeling in the White Wolf's belly. Davos decides tonight is the perfect time to confront the Dragon Queen about the fate of Princess Shireen.

BLUE EYES

Wake up, he told himself. He stood in the middle of a battlefield, clutching a flaming sword. There is no one around him, except blue eyes that had haunted him for years now. Suddenly, a overwhelming darkness took over him, and the blue eyes were gone, only to be replaced with purple ones. “Do it now,” a voice tells him. “Do it!” 

Jon jolted upright in his bed. He could feel his body covered in sweat. His body shook violently as the last bits of his nightmare lingered in the corners of his mind. With a grimace, Jon threw the satin sheets off of him that was beginning to cling to his damp body. 

The sun flickered into his room through the half-opened curtains meaning Jon had slept in too late. Since his arrival in King’s Landing, his internal alarm clock became non-existent. Pushing the curtains aside, he stepped out onto his balcony, admiring the view. He could see the port and the many ships belonging to different houses in the distance, swaying from the tide as they came to celebrate Daenerys Targaryen. 

It was odd to know that another Targaryen now sat on the Iron Throne. Of course, he wasn’t born when the Targaryen’s kept King’s Landing under their rule. Jon only knew Robert Baratheon’s reign, which was his father’s best friend. It was a peaceful one, especially in the North, then everything went to shit when a Lannister sat upon that throne. As for Stannis’s rule, it was a short one, but his presence in the North affected Jon’s life and leadership at Castle Black as Lord Commander. 

Jon was curious about what kind of rule Daenerys Targaryen would lead. From knowing her just in a short month, he found her to be fascinating. With silver hair like the moon dressed in fashionable braids, Daenerys had a slender frame and small breasts, but her face alone was striking that it made Jon breathless. 

A piercing cry cut through the sky, sending Jon into a dive back into his room. Above, Daenerys’s three dragons flew over the Red Keep towards the Dragonpit, where they would come to rest. This was the first time Jon had seen the dragons, and he immediately understood the fascination Arya had with the creatures. Though similar in size, each of the dragons stood out, and on the back of the black one, Jon swore he could see wisps of long silver hair. 

Climbing to his feet, Jon made his way over the bowl of cold water and began washing last night’s nightmare from him before Ghost alerted him that someone was at the door. Grabbing Longclaw, he prepared himself for whatever might happen. “Come in.” 

Robb, his brother, popped his head in, smiling when he spotted Jon. “Are you just now waking up?” Robb asked, closing the door behind him. When he turned, he noticed Jon was holding Longclaw. “Were you planning on using that?” 

Jon looked down at his sword before tossing it on the bed. “Sorry, I’m a little on edge,” Jon apologized. “I didn’t know it was you.” 

Immediately this caught Robb’s attention. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing,” Jon reassured his brother. “I just had a nightmare that’s still lingering around.” 

“Oh yeah? What was it about?” 

“The Night King,” Jon replied honestly. “I don’t know exactly where I was at, but I was facing him on the battlefield, alone.” Jon didn’t want to mention the purple eyes. He knew Robb wouldn’t know what it meant. 

“You haven’t had a nightmare since we were boys,” Robb noticed. “I think I remember the last one you had. It was right before you left-”

“Winterfell,” Jon cut him off. “I dreamt of our father’s death, and I even warned him not to go.” 

“What did he tell you again?” 

“If I did everything I was asked, then I wouldn’t be alive.” 

They were quiet for a moment. “Father should’ve never gone South. I wouldn’t be here, forced to take on his duties and the mess he left.” 

“No one knew that Robert Baratheon was going die,” Jon stated. “Let alone die by the hands of a boar.” 

“Gods, what an embarrassing way to die. How does one go from being one of the greatest warriors in Westeros to being a drunk?” 

“Maybe it’s the throne. All the pressure that one has to take just to sit upon it.” 

“Then I wish Daenerys Targaryen the best of luck,” Robb said, sympathetically. 

The two men walked silently out of Maegor’s Holdfast. Jon wanted to find Aemon to question him about his knowledge of dragonglass and possibly uncover material location. Robb wouldn’t be joining Jon as he waited for their younger sister, Sansa, who would be arriving with her husband from Highgarden. “You sure you don’t want to meet Sansa? I’m sure she misses you!” Robb said. 

“Tell her I’ll meet with her later,” Jon replied. “I need to meet with Maester Aemon.” 

“You do plan on being present for the feast at least?” 

“I’m not sure,” Jon replied. “Sam’s helping me comb through the Red Keep’s library for any information regarding dragonglass.” 

“That can’t wait till tomorrow?” Robb asked. 

“Sam leaves for Oldtown tomorrow to begin his Maester training. So, I only have a night left to use his skills.” 

Robb looked displeased but didn’t push Jon any further. “I will miss you tonight then. I’m sure I won’t be the only one.” Jon looked up at his brother, who had a mischievous smile on his face. Jon wanted to say something, but Robb turned and walked away from him, his taunting laughter ringing through the halls. 

******************************

Jon walked himself up to the Hand’s tower to find Aemon resting in his chair by the window. “Lord Commander Snow,” Maester Aemon spoke, his voice brittle. “What a pleasant surprise. I would assume you would be greeting your sister, Lady Sansa, and her husband?” 

“I can greet them later,” Jon stated. “I was wondering if you knew much about dragonglass?” 

“Well, I suppose I know a little about it. Much of my memory is failing, Jon Snow, so you must be patient.” 

Jon stepped closer in the room and closed the door behind him. “We found a cache of dragonglass daggers, among other things. We believe it was buried there either by the First Men or the Children of the Forest. We know that it helps defeat the others as well as Valyrian steel.” 

“It goes by many names; frozen fire, obsidian. The smallfolk believe that dragonglass was made from dragons themselves, while others believe it’s from the earth’s fires. Either way, it’s a rare thing to possess now.” 

“I can see that,” Jon said a little impatiently. “But I’m hoping the time you spent studying to be a Maester at the Citadel or your time at Castle Black meant you knew where to found an abundance of the stuff.” 

“I used to know,” Aemon said. “But it’s hard to remember much in my old age, Jon Snow. Forgive me, but I cannot remember.” 

Jon sighed, sitting in the chair next to Aemon. “It’s alright. How are you feeling?” 

“To be honest, I don’t see myself surviving the year. I think I had enough strength in me to find Daenerys.” 

Jon didn’t like to hear Aemon’s speak bluntly about his death. He was a great man and an honest one. They had formed a great friendship during the time they spent together at Castle Black. “I’m glad you were able to find her,” Jon admitted. 

“I am too, but I worry about my great-niece,” Aemon said. “She is a gentle girl with a soft heart, but if tested, she can be just as ruthless as her ancestors. Daenerys depends on my counsel a lot, and I am happy to give it to her, but tonight the feast isn’t just about celebrating her coronation.” 

“What is it about?” 

“Lords and Ladies from all over Westeros, even in Essos travel to King’s Landing to meet the Daenerys Targaryen. Whispers have been spread all over the known world about the Mad King’s daughter and her three dragons. These Lords and Ladies will bring their sons in hopes of allying thought a betrothal.” 

Jon sat back with an unexpected surge of jealousy filled his gut. “Daenerys has the largest army as well as three dragons that grow larger each day. Why would she need an alliance?” Jon asked him curiously. 

“What did you think when you first saw her dragons?” Aemon asked him. 

“Fear,” Jon admitted. 

“Dragons are the most dangerous things in the world. We all know the stories of Aegon the Conqueror and the Targaryen war we know as ‘Dance of the Dragons.’ Harrenhal is a permanent reminder of how much damage a dragon can do. Daenerys has three dragons and a powerful army residing at her back. What house wouldn’t want their son to hold that much power?” 

Jon understood what Aemon was implying. “Daenerys is a lot smarter than that.” 

“I agree,” Aemon admitted. “That’s why she’ll find a husband who is weak who won’t challenge her rule.” Jon smiled at the idea of any man trying to challenge Daenerys. It was a funny sight to picture. “How are her lessons coming along?” 

“Daenerys is a quick learner. I think she has the potential to be skilled with a sword if we continue the lessons.” 

“I’m glad that you’re the one teaching her. I’m was afraid that Ser Barristan or Ser Jorah would be too easy on her, but not you. You’re always honest.” 

“Maybe too honest,” Jon sighed. “Maester Aemon, can I--” 

A knock at the door interrupted Jon. In came several Unsullied before Daenerys entered. Immediately the dull room lit up with her presence. As she locked eyes with Jon, he could see she came straight from the dragonpit. Dirt peppered her pale face, and her hair was windblown and tangled. “Lord Snow,” she greeted him. “This is a pleasant surprise.” 

“Your Grace,” Jon bowed. “I was speaking with Maester Aemon about dragonglass.” 

“And? What have you learned?” 

“I’m afraid my memory isn’t what it used to be, muppet,” Aemon answered. “Jon might find the answers in the library. Maybe Sam might be some use to you.” 

“Thank you, Maester Aemon,” Jon grabbed the old Maester’s hand and shook it gently. 

Jon bowed again in goodbye to Daenerys, but as he passed her, she stopped him with her hand. “Will I be seeing you tonight at the feast?” 

“I didn’t think I was invited, Your Grace,” Jon admitted bashfully. 

“Why wouldn’t you be? You are my guest.” 

“Well, to be honest, I am Ned Stark’s bastard.” 

“That might be true, but you are Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and a guest I respect very much,” Daenerys stated frustratedly.

Jon smiled despite feeling embarrassed by her passion. “Thank you, Your Grace.” 

“Then it’s settled. I shall see you tonight.” 

************************

After leaving Maester Aemon, Jon called upon Davos and Sam to meet him in the library. The shelves were overstocked with books of the history of King’s Landing throughout the centuries. “I’m surprised Robert Baratheon didn’t destroy these books,” Davos admitted. “Stannis told me that Robert went on a frenzy and ordered everyone to destroy another Targaryen related. Most of these books are about House Targaryen.” 

“Either he knew that you shouldn’t destroy records of history or someone hid them from him,” Sam assumed. “It should be a crime if someone destroys record evidence. By the Gods, look at all of this! It’s a nice view, but why did you bring us down here, Jon?”  
“I need your help,” Jon stated. “I spoke with Maester Aemon and asked him about dragonglass. He told me the names it’s called, but he doesn’t remember where a location regarding the material could be.” 

“And you think it’s in these books?” Davos asked. 

“I’m not sure, but we have to try.” 

The hours flew by, and the wax from the candles that littered the library now laid hardened in a puddle on the floor. There were hundreds of books in the library, and Jon felt as if he had read them all without much success. His eyes were beginning to burn, and the dull pounding that had visited him a couple of hours ago had grown progressively worse. 

“I think I’m going to have to retire for the night,” Davos yawned. “These lines are starting to blur.” Jon closed the book and stretched his tense muscles. “Maybe we can sneak into the feast and grab a bit and some wine.” 

“Fuck,” Jon muttered. “I lost track of time!” 

“Don’t worry,” Davos reassured Jon. “Robert Baratheon hosted many feasts, and they went on way past dawn.” 

“I should head back to Gilly and little Sam. I want to spend time with them before I leave for Oldtown tomorrow,” Sam said. 

“Are they not going with you?” Davos asked. 

“I don’t know if she would be much help at the Citadel,” Sam replied. 

“Take her with you,” Jon ordered. “She can help you look for any information regarding dragonglass.” 

“I’ll ask her, but I think she wanted to stay in King’s Landing and help with Maester Aemon.” 

“Ask her. Tell her we need her in Oldtown more than we need her here,” Jon said. 

**********************

Jon and Davos parted ways with Sam. Exhausted, Jon’s stomach betrayed him with a loud rumble of hunger. “The feast sounds a lot more appetizing than sleep right now,” Davos stated. “We might not get much, but something is better than nothing.” 

The two men rounded the corner when harsh voices rooted them to the spot. “Best to ignore it and keep walking,” Davos whispered. But Jon didn’t move. He could see what Davos didn’t. There, just off into the dark corner, was Daenerys Targaryen engrossed in a conversation with a man Jon didn’t recognize. 

“Wait,” Jon stopped the older man. 

“We shouldn’t be listening to this,” Davos hissed. 

Jon agreed, but he didn’t find walking into this private conversation right either. How would he explain himself to Daenerys why he wasn’t at the feast? “Just stay hidden. I’m sure they’ll leave soon, and we can pretend we didn’t witness this.” 

Davos sighed, not liking the idea but going along with it anyway. The two men hid in the dark and tried to make as little noise as possible as they eavesdropped on the Queen’s conversation. 

“Please, Daenerys,” the man begged her. “Grey Worm knows the people better than I do. Plus, there are still Unsullied in Meereen that he can command.” 

“I need Grey Worm here in King’s Landing,” Daenerys replied. “I need you in Meereen and the Second Sons in Meereen.” 

“Send anyone else.” 

“Daario, I trust you to act as my regent while I’m in King’s Landing. There have been whispers that have been reaching across Essos that I’ve taken back the Iron Throne. I will not allow Meereen to fall back in the hands of the Slave Master’s.” 

“Then fly on your dragon’s and end those whispers. Show them how powerful Daenerys Targaryen is.” 

“And just leave King’s Landing? I’ve only been crowned its Queen for one day!”

Jon could see the tenseness in Daenerys’s shoulders as she argued with the man who didn’t seem to respect her wishes. “Those old knights don’t want me here, do they?” Daario asked. 

“Stop!” Daenerys snapped. “My asking you to leave for Meereen has nothing to do with them. I asked you as a friend, and now I’m demanding as your Queen!” 

“I’m not a fool Daenerys,” Daario growled. “I know they disapprove of me being your paramour, but it seems as if you agree with them. Do I not do it enough for you? Have you grown bored of me?” 

A slap rang through the hall, startling both Jon and Davos, causing a loud gasp to escape from their lips. Jon wasn’t shocked to discover that Daenerys had a paramour. There was no denying that she was a stunning woman, and even he had to try to compose himself in their lessons, but he couldn’t help the sour feeling that had filled his gut. 

A slap echoed through the hall as Daenerys raised her against the man. Jon watched as Daario grabbed the hilt of his sword, and instinctively Jon grabbed for Longclaw. “No!” Davos hissed. 

Jon wanted to argue, but Davos was pointing to the scene ahead of them. The Unsullied that guarded their Queen stepped forward with their spheres aimed at Daario, ready for command. Jon watched with his heart lodged in his throat as he anticipated Daenerys’s next move. 

“Take him to the black cells,” Daenerys said, her voice cold as the ice in the North. “Maybe a night in there will do you good.” 

“Daenerys!” Daario gasped. “Don’t do this!” But Daenerys didn’t reply as the Unsullied dragged Daario away.

The hall was quiet now as the confrontation between the old lovers died out. “Maybe this is our chance before any more drama happens tonight,” Davos said sarcastically. 

They stepped out of the darkness and walked towards Daenerys, who spotted them. “Lord Snow! Ser Davos!” 

“Queen Daenerys,” Jon greeted. As she stepped into the light, Jon noticed that she was crying. “Forgive us for intruding. We were on our way to the feast.” 

“Pretty late for you two to be joining,” Daenerys said. “I’m sure there’s still plenty of food left.“

“Thank you, Your Grace.” There was an awkward moment where Jon wanted to ask if she was alright but didn’t find it appropriate in front of Davos. Jon bowed before turning on his heel to make his way to the throne room where the feast was held. 

“Melisandre was looking for you, Lord Snow,” Daenerys called out. “She said you would know where to find her.” 

Jon frowned. Why would Melisandre be looking for him? They hadn’t talked much since their arrival in King’s Landing. 

“Your Grace, may I ask a question,” Ser Davos asked, but Davos didn’t wait for her to her answer. “Why did you kill Princess Shireen? I understand killing Stannis Baratheon was necessary, but why Shireen? I loved that little girl like she was my own! She was good! She was kind, and you killed her!” Jon stared at Davos as if he had lost his mind. The older man’s face had gone red, and Jon could see the hatred flickering behind his seaweed colored eyes. 

“Is that what kind of Queen you think I am, Ser Davos?” Daenerys snarled. “If you think I’m the kind of Queen who burns young children alive with her dragons, you are mistaken.” 

“I saw the look in Melisandre’s eyes when she returned to Castle Black. She told me what happened to Stannis. How you defeated him by using your dragons.” 

Daenerys stepped closer to Davos. Jon had never seen her look so angry and yet so sad. “What purpose would I have to kill a young Princess? The daughter of my enemy? If I wanted to destroy all my enemies, then I would have killed Princess Myrcella Baratheon, who resides as a guest to House Martell in Dorne.” 

Daenerys stood so close to the two men, Jon could smell the sweet wine she had with her supper. “Time and time again, I have tried to prove that I am not my father, and yet his reputation seems to haunt me as you accuse me of killing an innocent child. I will tell you this one time, Ser Davos, that I, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, did not kill Princess Shireen, and if you accuse me so boldly again, I will personally feed you to my dragons. Now, please go and enjoy the feast as my guest. I do not wish to see you again for the rest of the night.” 

Davos swallowed, feeling ashamed of himself. “Forgive me, Your Grace,” Davos apologized before scurrying off into the throne room, leaving Jon and Daenerys alone. 

“Do you feel the same as that old man does?” Daenerys asked Jon. “Do you think me as cruel as my father? As someone who would murder an innocent child?”

“No, I do not think that, Daenerys,” Jon replied honestly. “You must forgive, Ser Davos. The time he spent with Stannis, he came to care about the young Princess Shireen.” 

“Lord Varys tells me I shouldn’t trust Melisandre,” Daenerys stated. “Do you trust her?” 

Jon didn’t know how to answer that question. She had brought him back to life after his men killed him. “I am indebted to her,” Jon answered truthfully. 

“Is there a price she’s asking that you cannot afford?” 

“There is no price. Even if there was, you and all of the money in the world would not be able to afford it.” 

“Do you love her?” Daenerys asked bluntly, catching Jon off guard. “Do you love Melisandre?” 

“No,” Jon quickly replied. “It’s not what you think.” 

“I don’t know what to think. Not when it comes to you, Jon Snow.” 

“There’s not much to me that would interest you.” 

“Why do you do think so low of yourself? There are lots of things that interest me about you.” Daenerys took a step, then another, until the front of her dress brushed against his gambeson. Every breath Jon took, citrus and lavender invaded his senses. 

“Like what?” he whispered, his voice failing him. 

“How does a bastard become Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch at such a young age? Why you spent all night in the Red Keep’s library instead of attending the feast? Why you hid in the corner and spied on my conversation?” Daenerys whispered. Jon felt himself flush from embarrassment. “Do you think ill of me now after what you found out?” 

“No,” Jon stated. “I broke my vows to the Night’s Watch when I bedded a wildling girl. Do you think ill of me?” 

Daenerys stood on her tiptoes and leaned her face into Jon’s. He felt her lips brush his, once, twice before she kissed him. Her lips were soft, full, and though it was an innocent kiss, he could feel the power behind it. Jon felt himself become intoxicated by her taste when he realized what was happening; he stopped it. “Dany-we-I can’t. Melisandre.” Daenerys took a step back, embarrassed by his rejection. 

Jon watched as her eyes welled with tears. He felt like a dickhead. Why did he have to say the Red Priestess name? Of all things? Jon wasn’t thinking about Melisandre. He wasn’t thinking at all, which was the problem! Being around Daenerys made him lose all sense of what was happening. It felt as if they were just as a young boy and girl with crushes. 

“You must not keep her waiting then,” Daenerys said, her voice cold and flat as she fixed her hair. “I must get back to my guests. Goodnight, Lord Snow.”


	13. H O U S E     S T A R K

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Catelyn POV 
> 
> short/filler chapter ... more coming soon.

CATELYN 

Catelyn woke up cold despite the lively fire that crackled in the hearth in her bed-chamber. Not wanting to start the day, she tucked the covers under her chin and prayed for a warmth that would never come. Ned’s death had left a permanent chill in her bones and a large piece of her heart died with him. She could remember the excruciating pain as the news of her husband’s death reached her camp. Catelyn tried to be strong for Robb, both her heart was bleeding as if a blade had pierced it. 

Catelyn wished she could lay in the cold dirt alongside her husband, but she had four kids that were missing, and her oldest who was now fighting a war; giving up wasn’t an option. 

“Good morning, My Lady,” one of her maidens greeted her with a hot bowl of water for cleaning. “Shall I send for your breakfast?” 

“No, I’ll eat in the Great Hall,” Catelyn yawned. “Is Rickon awake?” 

“Should be, ma’am.” 

“Good, send his breakfast to the Great Hall.” 

Catelyn washed and dressed before wrapping herself in her husband’s old fur cloak that swallowed her. She walked through the dark, cold halls of the stone castle that she had called home for over twenty years now. Winterfell was a lot like Riverrun. Dark, made of stone and cold, but without its Lord or Lady, it wouldn’t be home. 

Catelyn sat down at the table and waited on her youngest son, Rickon to join her. “Lady Catelyn,” Maester Wolkan greeted her. 

“What is it?” 

“A couple of the Night’s Watch brothers have come.” 

Catelyn followed Wolkan to the courtyard to see a few Night’s Watch brothers both young and old. She was expecting Jon’s body to arrive after Robb promised to have it delivered to Winterfell, but they arrived empty-handed. 

“What has happened? Where is Jon’s body?” she asked the men.   
“Lord Commander Jon Snow?” 

“Yes! Where is his body? If you burnt it where are his ashes?” 

“The Lord Commander isn’t dead,” the young man stated. 

“But-”

“Edd, M’Lady,” the man greeted her. “Acting Lord Commander while Jon is away on business.” 

“Can you tell me what is going on?” Catelyn snapped. “My son received a letter telling us about the death of Jon. Was that a lie?” 

“No lie,” Edd exclaimed. “Jon Snow was dead. Stabbed by his own brothers of the Night’s Watch, but the Red Witch, Melisandre brought him back with her magic. I wouldn’t believe it My Lady, but I saw it with my own eyes.” 

Catelyn was silent for a moment, processing what they had told her. It seemed like a ridiculous thing to believe, but what else could she do? Did Robb know about this? “And where is Jon now?” 

“Lord Robb asked for Jon to accompany him to King’s Landing to tell Queen Daenerys about the threat beyond the wall.” 

“What threat beyond the wall?” 

“The others. The real threat to Westeros,” Edd explained. “The dead walk among us. Jon knew that and when Lord Robb came to the wall, and now he knows it too.” 

“The others are just stories,” Catelyn said. “Tales to keep our children straight.” 

“No, Ma’am. They’re real. I’ve seen ‘em with my own eyes and unfortunately, they’re coming. I just hope that Jon can persuade the Dragon Queen to help fight them.” 

Catelyn was quiet for a moment, trying to remember every little detail she heard about the others. “The wall is supposed to protect us from a great threat? Isn’t that what it’s for? What the Night’s Watch has been for hundreds of years?” 

“We all know that the wall has protected us against what is out there, built with powerful magic to keep the others out, but we brought one of those things past the gate. It survived a long while, but there are hundreds of thousands of those things out there, waiting to strike us and we won’t be able to hold them off. You can feel it getting colder, your bones ache from how cold it grows. Winter is coming, and we might be dead before it’s over.” 

A shrill ran through Catelyn’s body. She didn’t want to believe them. There were enough monsters among men that the world didn’t need more. If there are as many of those monsters out there, how would anyone survive if they were to breach the wall? 

“Wait!” She gasped, her hand covering her mouth. “Bran! My son is out there! He went beyond the wall!” 

“That’s why we’ve come,” Edd replied. “You can’t send any more scouts out there.” 

“I shall! He is just a boy! A boy who is crippled! I will not stop until he comes home to me, alive! I don’t care how many scouts I have to send! I will not stop until he’s home!” 

“Then you’re sending them out to their grave!” Edd shouted. “Every time we lift that gate, we’re sending them to the others! Giving them more men to use against us!” 

“I don’t care-” 

“You might not, My Lady, but I do! Benjen Stark went out there and he has yet to return! Your son might share the same fate as those men!” 

An awkward silence filled the courtyard as the two yelled at one another. “Forgive me, My Lady, I have spoken too harshly.” 

Catelyn took a couple of deep breaths before trusting herself to speak. “I will not stop looking for my son, and if that means more men have to die until he is brought home, I will not apologize for that.” 

“Then you’re just sending more men to their grave and I won’t be responsible for that,” Edd hissed, before turning on his foot and leaving Winterfell.

___________________

Over the course of the next couple of months, Catelyn spent teaching Rickon the politics of the North and what being Lord of Winterfell meant. Though he was the youngest of her children, he was already showing signs of being a natural leader. 

As Catelyn ate supper with Rickon after a long day of lessons, a startled Maester Wolkan burst through the room. “Forgive me, My Lady, but I’ve come with news.” 

“What is it?” Catelyn asked, setting down her silverware. 

“I was tending to some of the prisoners when I came across one that I recognized. He’s in poor shape, My Lady, and needs immediate care. I would like to move him into one of the rooms so he can get the proper care he needs.” 

“What importance is this prisoner?” 

“It’s Theon Greyjoy, ma’am.” 

Catelyn quickly walked alongside Maester Wolkan as he explained what condition Theon was in. “Ramsay tortured the poor boy,” the Maester explained. “For his own entertainment. I tended to his wounds, but the things that twisted boy did, I will spare you the details.” 

Catelyn held her tongue. She despised Theon for betraying her house and trying to kill her boys. Whatever Ramsay Bolton did to Theon was more justified than the sickening thoughts she had if she ever came across him. 

Maester Wolkan stopped in front of the dungeon door. “I must warn you, the things that Ramsay Bolton did to that young boy… I’m afraid he’s paid for his sins and then some.” 

Maester Wolkan opened the door to the dungeon and both Catelyn and Rickon followed him down the winding stairs that led to a dark, dusty celled room that held the prisoners of Winterfell. Catelyn brought a cloth to her mouth as they moved past the cells. The smell of feces was intense mixed with the smell of sickness and death. 

The trio came to a stop at the last cell that was smaller than the rest. From the flickering of the torch that hung on the wall, Catelyn could see a small body lying in the back corner. 

“Theon?” Catelyn called out to him, but the boy didn’t answer. “Theon!” 

“Ma’am,” Wolkan snapped. “The young man does not know himself as Theon. He calls himself Reek.” 

“Reek?” Catelyn laughed. “Why would he call himself such a thing?” 

“Ramsay,” a defeated voice croaked in answer. 

“Ramsay?” Catelyn stepped forward, grabbing the torch from the wall and bringing it closer. “By the Gods, what did that man do to you?” 

From the closeness of the light, she could see the poor boy she knew since he was a young child, shriveled and disappearing right before her eyes. His hair was long and covered half of his face. He wore a long, dingy shirt that looked like ripped rags sewn together. His pants were dark and baggy, obviously, either was too big, to begin with or double its size as Theon lost so much weight. 

Theon began to cough uncontrollably, the sound harsh in her ears. As Theon went quiet, his body began to convulse violently that it startled Catelyn. “You see Ma’am, he must be moved to a room where he can get warm. He won’t last another week without proper treatment!” 

“Move him,” Rickon’s small voice ordered. “See that he has the proper treatment, Maester Wolkan.” 

“Rickon,” Catelyn hissed, pulling her young son aside. “He betrayed our family. He tried to have you and Bran killed!” 

“I know that,” Rickon stammered. “But, I know what father would do and what Robb would do. I don’t believe Theon is a threat to our family or to Winterfell. As acting Lord, this is my decision.” 

Catelyn looked at her young son with so much pride she felt as if her heart was going to burst. Though, she didn’t agree with his choice, he was doing what he felt was right. Nodding her head, she left the dungeon.


	14. JON IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon has another dream and searches for answers. As he searches for the meaning behind his dreams he learns the truth about how far the Lord of Light followers will go despite the outcome.

Jon found Melisandre in the Red Keep’s Godswood. Her deep-red hair blended against her long dress. “I was hoping you would find me, Lord Commander,” she said. 

“What did you need, My Lady?” Jon asked. 

“I saw something in the fire. I think you’ve seen it too.” 

“My Lady, I don’t trust in visions-”

“Purple eyes,” Melisandre interrupted him. Jon felt himself stiffen. How could she see what he had dreamt? “You dreamt it. You wear it so plainly on your face.” 

Jon didn’t trust himself to speak despite the many questions racing through his mind, but he needed answers. “What does it mean?” Jon settled on the first question that slipped through his full lips. 

“The Lord of Light speaks to you,” she stated. 

“I don’t believe in him.” 

Melisandre’s face dropped. “How can you not when he brought you back? He shows you what he wants you to see. I see it in the flames when my Lord speaks to me.” 

“Does he show you why I was brought back?” 

“The Lord commanded it.” 

Jon growled in frustration. He was tired of playing riddles with Melisandre. “Do you know what it’s like to feel a dagger pierce your heart? There’s an excruciating amount of pain just for a brief second until you lay cold and still, but I wasn’t dead. I found myself inside my direwolf, Ghost. I saw everything through his eyes. I saw my body lay dead on that table. I thought I’d be trapped in his body forever, feeling less and less man every minute. Do you know what that feels like, My Lady?”

“I don’t,” she whispered. 

“I don’t feel like myself,” Jon confessed. “How can I? I can feel the fabric of my shirt run across the ridges of my scar. Each time I am reminded of the betrayal at the hands of my brothers. I am angry, and I am cold, and I am afraid that I will eventually lose myself together.” 

“I don’t know how it works, Jon Snow,” Melisandre stated. “All I know is what my Lord tells me.” 

“Does your Lord make a habit of toying with people’s lives?” Jon snapped. 

Melisandre ignored his question. “I saw you fighting in the flames against the others, and last night I know Daenerys Targaryen plays a part too.” 

Jon remained silent. What was there left to say? With his questions, he was only met with more riddles. 

Exhausted, Jon bid Melisandre goodnight when a question crossed his mind. “What happened to Princess Shireen? When you returned to Castle Black, you didn’t speak of it?” 

Melisandre was quiet for a moment before bowing her head. “Stannis was losing the battle. He had no support in the North. The horses were beginning to fall ill, and his men were exhausted.” 

“I’m not understanding,” Jon replied. 

“A sacrifice was needed for Stannis to win the battle,” Melisandre explained. “We needed a blood sacrifice; we needed king’s blood. We burned Princess Shireen at the stake.” 

Jon took a step back, horrified. “You...you burned her alive?” 

“I told you that Stannis was losing the battle!” 

“Men die! You either fight to the end, or you give up. You don’t burn children!” Jon shouted. 

“You weren’t there! You didn’t see what I did! Her own blood knew it was the only way!” 

“The only way? You burned an innocent girl alive!” 

“So did her father, and so did her mother,” Melisandre stated as if she was trying to point the blame somewhere else. 

“How could you do such a thing?” Jon asked. 

“My Lord commanded it!” 

“If he commands you to burn children, then your Lord is evil!” 

Melisandre bowed her head. “I was wrong about Stannis.” 

“Aye, you were, and everyone died anyway!” 

“They did, and I can’t change what happened now. I was following what my Lord commanded. You might think him evil, but you’re standing here because of him! You serve him just as I do, Jon Snow.” 

Jon turned to leave but stopped wanting to say one more thing. “Davos has a right to know, and I will tell him, but I won’t try to stop him if he tries to kill you.”

“I’ve been ready to die for many years. If the Lord was done with me, so be it, but he’s not. You know of the great war that’s to come, Jon Snow. The army of the dead will soon be upon us, and I play a part in the war just as much as you do.” 

That night Jon dreamt of red eyes and fire. 

**********************************

Jon woke the next morning in a terrible mood. He thought about staying in his room, faking head pain, but he knew he couldn’t avoid telling Davos the true fate of Princess Shireen. After breakfast, Jon dressed and headed to find Davos. Jon didn’t find Davos in his room, nor anywhere in the Red Keep. Remembering that Davos had some business to deal with at the port, Jon had one of Robb’s men send for the old man. 

Not knowing what else to do, Jon found himself in the Godswood again and not alone. “Melisandre,” he greeted the Red-Priestess coldly. 

“Lord Commander,” she greeted. 

“It seems you rather have the old Gods keep you company than your Lord of Light,” Jon stated. 

“I find the bleeding faces of the weirwood trees to be haunting yet inviting. It’s almost as if they speak to you with their bleeding eyes.” 

“They’re made from red sap. That’s why it looks like they’re crying blood.” Jon didn’t feel like being friendly towards Melisandre, not after what she had confessed to him last night, but he still had lots of questions. 

“Walk with me, Jon Snow.” It wasn’t a question. He followed Melisandre out of the Godswood and into the garden. “You had another dream. I can see it in your eyes. What was it about?” 

“Red Eyes and Fire,” he replied. “I couldn’t see who the eyes belonged to, but the fire felt like it was consuming me. I could feel its heat, yet I did not burn.” 

“Give me your hand.” Jon hesitated before following her order. She reached her hand out and grabbed it with surprising strength. Her touch was so warm that Jon thought it would burn him. Jon felt her warmth before at Castle Black. He wondered how she could survive the North’s bitter cold with just a dress, but it felt like flames dancing within her veins when he first touched her. 

Melisandre’s eyes closed as she touched him. “Can you see anything?” he asked. 

She didn’t speak for a bit, but they seemed to burn when she opened her eyes. “I can feel the darkness in you. The one you’ve been trying to fight since your resurrection.” 

Jon frowned. “Is it dangerous?” 

“That depends on what you decide to do with it,” she replied. “There is good and evil in this world, Jon Snow. We are born with the ability to do both. You can tap into this darkness and still be a good person, or…” 

Jon has seen evil. He has fought against them. He knew of evil men, but he also knew of good men. Melisandre has done terrible things in the name of her Lord, but Jon was unsure if the priestess herself was evil. 

“Your Grace,” Melisandre dropped Jon’s hands as she greeted Daenerys Targaryen as she strolled through the garden with Missandei, her trusted advisor. 

Jon turned quickly on his heel to face Daenerys, who seemed to be staring at the duo with an odd expression on her face. Remembering their awkward encounter from last night, Jon could only imagine what Daenerys was thinking stumbling upon them holding hands. He wanted to defend himself, to tell her that it was all a misunderstanding, but he watched as she slipped a civil mask on so effortlessly as she greeted them. 

“Melisandre. Lord Commander Snow,” despite the pleasantry in her voice, her smile was so sharp Jon felt as if it was cutting straight through him. “It’s a pleasant day for a stroll in the gardens, isn’t it?” 

“It is Your Grace,” Melisandre replied. 

“Forgive me for asking, but how did you two meet? The last time I saw you, I banished you to Volantis.” 

“You did, your Grace, but I could not leave. Not until I brought ice and fire together.” 

“Ice and fire?” Daenerys replied, looking at Jon, who was just in equal confusion. 

Melisandre didn’t have time to explain. Ser Davos had arrived in the gardens with a worried look. “Ser Davos,” Daenerys greeted the older gentleman. “Did you see your family off?” 

“I did, Your Grace,” he politely smiled. “Thank you for being for their stay.” 

Daenerys smiled in response before returning her gaze back at Jon. He could see a small fire burn behind their violet hues, and he nearly gasped. Her eyes were like the ones in his dreams, but her voice didn’t match the haunting one he had heard for several nights now. 

Jon broke his gaze from Daenerys and turned to Melisandre to understand why Davos was here. “Davos, you and I need to speak privately,” Jon stated. 

Davos frowned with worry but turned to move when Melisandre stopped them. “No, it’s alright,” she said. “Everyone has a right to know.” Straightening her posture, she told how she joined Stannis’s council and helped defeat his enemies, including that of his brother, Renly Baratheon, and how she met Jon Snow at Castle Black. 

The story’s mood quickly changed as she explained the misfortune that overcame Stannis and his army. “When you traveled to Westeros to take back the Iron Throne, we were desperate. I looked into the fire and sought counsel with my Lord. We needed a blood sacrifice, blood of a king.” 

Jon tensed beside Melisandre, knowing what she was going to say next. “The only person who had king’s blood running through their veins was Princess Shireen. We burned her at the stake.” 

Jon could hear Daenerys gasp beside him. Though he had heard the story before, the second time left a pit in his stomach. 

“You burned her? How could you?” Davos shouted. 

“Stannis was losing the battle. He had no support in the North. The horses were beginning to fall ill, and his men were exhausted, you saw that, Ser Davos!” 

“It’s war! Men bloody die all the time! It’s written in the stories we’ve heard and read! You burned an innocent little girl alive! You killed her!” 

Jon could see tears fall down his cheeks and his heart hurt for his friend. He knew how close Davos and Shireen were. She had taught him to read, and Davos treated her more kindly than her own parents. 

“So did her mother, and so did her father!” Missandei stated. 

“Is that why Stannis sent me back to Castle Black?” Davos asked. 

“He knew that you would try and stop him like you had with Robert’s bastard.” 

Davos reached for the sword at his hip and drew it. He pointed the sword at Melisandre, who made no attempt to move or stop him. “You deserve a death a hundred times worse than what you did to Princess Shireen!” 

“Ser Davos put away your weapon!” Daenerys ordered. “I know you wish to avenge the life of an innocent child, but you will not spill blood in King’s Landing, not as long as you are my guest.” 

“Then I wish to not be your guest, Your Grace,” the old man stated, his sword still in his hands. 

Jon placed his hand on the old man’s shoulder, forcing him to lower his sword. Melisandre deserved to die by his hands, but it wasn’t the time. 

“Melisandre, from this day forward, you are exiled from the Seven Kingdoms as long as I serve as its queen. If you ever step foot on Westeros shore, I give Ser Davos permission to execute you himself.” 

Melisandre looked at Daenerys, unfazed by her threat. “I still have a part to play in the war to come, Your Grace. Till that time comes, I will honor my punishment in Volantis preparing, but I will return to Westeros shores. If I am still alive after the war, you can do with me what you like.”


End file.
